Asleep
by A Sweet Catastrophe
Summary: Topher gives a tour to the woman who will become the L.A. Dollhouse's first Whiskey, an experience that haunts him after she's gone.
1. Anna Calroy

**Author's Note**: There are a lot of theories that Topher and Claire had some kind of pre-Whiskey connection (whether it be brother/sister, boyfriend/girlfriend, etc.). I had another theory that developed into a three chapter story, one chapter for each of her "transformations." This first chapter is a more narrative style bit about who her original personality was and how they met. The other two chapters would be more introspective on snippets of scenes from Topher's POV about Whiskey and Claire.

My writing skills are quite rusty so I hope this is okay. Enjoy!

_Chapter 1 – Anna Calroy_

"I don't know what anyone has told you but that mix-up, not my fault!" he said fervently, punctuating his statement with a hand gesture. He was positive it wasn't. He blamed his lab assistant. Yes, sure, he hadn't been working there very long and he was, in years at least, younger than anyone else in that lab but when the man in the clean white lab coat can't write clearly enough on a wedge to distinguish the letter V from the letter U, we have a serious problem, a serious problem that results in an tough-as-nails thief going on what was supposed to be a lovely, romantic dinner date. The blame needed to be properly placed because although he knew they wouldn't fire him, he was the smartest one in that lab, he didn't want a mark on his record just because the head of security had it in for him.

But the second he saw the look on Adelle DeWitt's face, it dawned on him in a crashing revelation that bursting into her "deal-making room" in the heat of the moment was probably not the best idea in the world. That death glare she gave him could have probably killed a small child and it was a motherly, well, not maternal, but certainly condescending, scolding that he had a feeling he had to look forward to in a few hours, once business was finished.

"Mr. Brink, can't you see I'm with a candidate," she said through slightly gritted teeth, as she rose from her chair and approached him intimidatingly.

He looked past her towards the round table in the middle of the room where her infamous green teapot and matching cups sat surrounded by paperwork. On the opposite side of the table from where Adelle had been sitting he saw a young woman with her face turned away from him, discreetly wiping her eyes with her sleeve like she had just been crying.

"Ah, sorry," he said, walking over to the candidate to try to make the situation less awkward. "Hi. I'm Topher Brink, the head programmer," he said, extending a hand to her.

The woman turned towards him, her eyes visibly red and puffy, and she smiled the weak smile of someone unable to fully put on a brave face. Her short, brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which seemed to make her large brown eyes even bigger. She was wearing a plain white t-shirt tucked into a navy blue pencil skirt and an open lavender-colored cardigan that fell to her knees and had sleeves long enough to completely cover her hands. Curiously, on the cardigan was a pin in the shape of a spider.

"Anna Calroy, the next person to put their life in your hands," she said, pushing up her sleeve and shaking his hand. Even though she looked into his eyes as she spoke, her voice sounded insecure.

He couldn't help but smile. This was the first time he had really met an Active before they became an Active and although he knew it was kind of a rule that they were supposed to be pretty, they didn't all give off the same vibe before being wiped that she did. She seemed unsure of why they had chosen her, unsure if she had made the right decision to sign the papers, and seemed a bit too innocent-looking to be subjected to the kinds of things he knew she would encounter in the next five years.

He instantly liked her.

Quickly realizing that he had trapped her in what had turned into a thirty second handshake, he let go with an uncomfortable laugh and turned back to Ms. DeWitt.

"Oh, and I have a message from Dom. He needs to see you right now, emphasis on the now; some big issue with the scary higher ups and standard procedure and other words that he likes to throw around. Actually if you could also tell him that I'm not responsible for delivering his messages and I really don't like being told them in that scary, threatening tone of his, that would make me feel so much better."

A fleeting look of visible annoyance passed across her face at the prospect of having to deal with Rossum for the second time this week but she stifled it expertly and nodded.

"Understood," she said monotonously. "Now if you could please take Ms. Calroy to the imprinting room . . ."

"Actually," Anna interrupted, leaning towards them. "I know I already signed my life away but I was wondering if I could get a look at the facilities first. It would make me feel a lot better," she said shyly, clearly hoping that she wasn't out of line in asking.

"Of course," Ms. DeWitt said, smiling as she tried to think of someone she could assign the chore to. Really anyone with a general idea of what not to say to a future Active would suffice.

"I'll do it," Topher volunteered. "It's a slow day," he said, creating an excuse. In truth, he was fascinated by this woman. What is the mind like of someone before they enter the Dollhouse? He wanted to know.

Ms. DeWitt looked dubious at his interest in such a job but it saved her a lot of trouble that he had so willingly offered.

"Alright," she said, turning to Anna. "I leave you in Mr. Brink's capable hands."

As DeWitt piled up all the papers and contracts on the table and left the room, Anna and Topher exchanged awkward smiles.

"So," Topher said, breaking the silence as he rocked back and forth on his feet. "This is the deal-making room." He motioned to the room they were in. "As far as I know, it doesn't serve any other purpose."

Anna let out a slight chuckle. "Well, I guess it's effective then," she said, trying to be light about the situation but unable to cover up a thin layer of gloom.

Thinking it would be best to get her away from the place she just signed five years of her life away in, he motioned for her to come with him. "If you will follow me. . ." he said with a tour guide like gesture as they walked over to an elevator right outside the door.

"One question before I forget," Anna said as the elevator doors shut behind them. "Ms. DeWitt wasn't sure about this but I wear contact lens and I was wondering if I should take them out now since I won't need them, right?"

Another situation he had yet to encounter! As far as he knew, none of the Actives had particularly poor vision before being wiped but then again, a lot of the Actives in the house currently were criminals who probably wouldn't be allowed to have metal objects that could be used in a fight, like an innocuous pair of glasses.

"You'll have to before we put you in the chair but for now, if you don't have glasses with you . . ."

"Oh, I do!" she said quickly, pulling them out of the pocket of her cardigan. "I'm prepared," she said grinning, as the doors opened onto the main floor. "In fact, I think I over-thought this whole thing, trying to look kind of nice and everything" she said, pointing to what she was wearing.

Topher shrugged. "Well, they won't retract an offer for looking like a slob," he said laughing. "I mean, we've got . . ." He paused and coughed, realizing he was about to tell her about the prison sentence shorting deal they had worked out. That would definitely fall under the category of 'things she shouldn't know about.'

"You can throw your contacts away over there," he said, hurriedly changing the topic and motioning to a trash can right outside the elevator.

She gave him an inquisitive look but seemed to decide questioning him wasn't worth it and instead, walked over to the can, pulling the lens out of her eyes with practiced skill. When she turned back towards him, she was wearing the glasses, thin gold frames that only added to the overall 'sweet' look she had going.

"Goody. Let the tour officially begin," he said, with a grand gesture as they walked towards the center of the Active's floor. He heard Anna suck in a nervous breath beside him and looked over to see her mesmerized by the Actives, walking blissfully across the room. She must not have noticed them when they first got onto the floor.

"That's what I'm going to become?" she asked erratically as she pointed straight ahead. "They're like zombies; without the brain-eating, right?"

Topher laughed. "Yeah, come on," he said, approaching a tall, blond Active with the uniform spacey expression they all shared.

"Alpha!" he shouted, causing Alpha to stop in his tracks and look at the two of them blankly.

"Hello," he said in a tranquil, even tone.

"Freaky," Anna whispered to Topher.

Topher grinned at her interest in his work. "Alpha, I'd like you to meet a new friend. This is Whiskey," he said in a far more calming tone than his usual one, motioning to Anna.

"Hello, Whiskey. My name is Alpha."

"Hi," Anna said slowly with a slight wave before shooting a look of horror at Topher.

"Alpha, why don't you go paint something?" he said, thinking she has seen enough to understand.

"Okay. I like painting," Alpha replied flatly.

As he walked away, Anna put a hand to her mouth in stunned silence.

"NATO phonetic alphabet names," she said in a purely observational tone.

He nodded.

"The second graders I used to teach could outwit them," she said in shock.

"You're a teacher?" Topher asked interested.

"Yeah, well, was," she said lowering the hand from her mouth. "I mold minds . . . differently from how you do," she said grinning at him. "It's a much slower process."

He returned the smile. Yes, he definitely liked her.

"I started out teaching kindergarten but I switched to second grade. Kindergarteners always need you to hold their hand through everything but second graders are more self reliant."

"I skipped second grade. I hear it's good though," he joked.

Anna laughed, the panic melting off her face. "Well, at least a second grader can fight back when attacked." She paused thoughtfully. "They can't, can they?" she asked, meaning the Actives.

"No, but we have a really strong security team lead by the most annoyingly serious man you'll ever meet. You'll be safe," he said, optimistically, as if he was making a promise to her.

Anna smiled. "Okay. So what else is there to see other than this crazy Zen interior decorating?" she asked, approaching one of the pools in the middle of the room and looking down at the rocks beneath the surface.

"Here they do yoga and meditation exercises; the whole place is designed to be all calm and spa-like. Over there, as you can see, we have your typical gym equipment," he said pointing across the way. "Back there is the art-type area thing for art-related doing. The dining area is right through there; three nutritious meals a day and I can say from personal experience that the food is awesome." He spun around, trying to find more landmarks to point out. "And the only other visible thing on this floor from here is Dr. Saunders' office which is right by the massage place."

Anna raised an eyebrow. "Do they need to see a doctor often?" she asked a bit worried.

"No, no," Topher said quickly, realizing that it sounded bad to need a doctor on the floor all the time. "Well, yes, but not for injuries or anything. Before and after assignments they have check-ups to make sure everything is fine."

"Oh," Anna said relieved.

"Do you," he started pointing to the office with his thumbs. "Do you want to meet the doctor?" Although she wouldn't remember him the next time she sees him, it would probably provide some much needed comfort to her now.

"Oh!" she said surprised. "Yeah, sure."

Walking towards the door, Topher realized Anna was looking at him speculatively.

"Topher is short for Christopher, right?" she asked out of nowhere.

"Yeah," he answered. "You're wondering why it's not Chris, right?"

Anna chuckled. "You get that a lot, huh?"

He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. "Not as much as you'd think but enough to drive the point home. Chris just didn't fit."

Anna nodded.

"So is Anna short for something?" he asked.

"Lilianna."

"You know what my next question is."

"Same reason. Lily didn't fit like Anna did. Unfortunately, my mother really liked the name Lilianna but she only got an Anna," she said distantly.

"Personally, I don't think you need the Lily. Weighs it down too much," he said, furrowing his brows and nodding like he had thought deeply about this.

She flashed a slight smile as they came to the entrance of the office.

"Dr. Saunders?" Topher called out, poking his head into the room.

A man with thinning white hair and thick, black glasses looked out from behind a computer and smiled.

"Ah, Topher," he said cordially. "Need to see a file?" he asked, getting up from his chair and smoothing out his white lab coat.

"No, I just wanted to introduce you to An-Whiskey. Well, the future, first Whiskey," he said, moving aside so he could see her. "She's nervous," he whispered, loud enough for Anna to hear.

Dr. Saunder's smiled and grabbed a jar of lollipops off his medical tray.

"Well, miss I can assure you that you will be well taken care of by me and by the whole staff here," he said warmly, holding out the jar to her.

Anna took out an orange one. "Hey, if you give us candy, it can't be that bad, right?" she said jokingly.

Dr. Saunders laughed and patted her on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. Giving her a tour?" he asked, looking over at Topher.

"Yeah, actually, we have to get back to that," he said, peeking over at Anna who had unwrapped the lollipop and put it in her mouth.

"Lead the way," she said in a tone muffled by the candy. She took it out of her mouth with a pop sound. "Nice meeting you," she said politely to the doctor.

"I'll see you soon," he called back.

Once they had left the office and started walking in the direction of the pool and shower area, Anna spoke up.

"Does he give lollipops to the zombies?" she asked curiously.

"Yeah," Topher said, chuckling. "He treats them like little kids."

Anna nodded, staring at her lollipop with immense focus. "Do you think there's a method to their choice of lollipop?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, wondering where the idea came from but intrigued nonetheless.

"Do they choose at random? Do they try different ones until they find a flavor they like? Do they pick the candy that is the most appealing color to them? I mean, they're supposed to be the same, right, but how same are they?"

Topher looked at her with his mouth open like he was going to say something but shut it after a second and rubbed his chin. No one had really done any experiments too invasive on the Actives yet since the primary focus had always been solely on creating the technology and then applying it for a profit. Theoretically, the wipes would lead to each Active only being about to choose things at random but based on the behavior he had been witnessing since he got the job, it's completely possible that there are differences among the Actives no matter how difficult they are to pinpoint.

"Someone should keep a record," Anna decided, pointing at Topher with her lollipop.

"Do you ever experiment on your students like that?" he asked teasingly.

"Shh, don't tell anyone," she said, pressing a finger to her lips and laughing. "Really, though, I minored in psychology. This whole doll thing opens up a whole new world of social and psychological tests. It's really fascinating."

They both stopped walking and looked down.

"The pool!" Topher said dramatically, with his arms out. The room containing the pool was completely empty aside from some wooden panels in front of the walls that contrasted with the unnatural turquoise of the water.

"I can see that," Anna said, pacing around the side of it since there was nowhere else to go in the room. "It's very . . . rectangular."

"For doing laps."

"Right. I swam competitively in college so I usually know my way around one of these."

"Then you should feel right at home here," he said gladly, hoping he had found something in the house that she would approve of.

Anna frowned as she knelt down to touch the water.

"I guess," she sighed, cupping the water in her hand and then letting it slip through her fingers back into the pool.

In an effort to diffuse the situation, Topher clapped his hands together as if he was punctuating a change in subject. "So, after swimming you would want to go over here," he said, leading her through the hallway connected to the pool into the showers, "to wash off the chlorine."

The shower room was designed like one you would see in a men's locker room but with much nicer décor that continued the blue and wood color scene of the pool. It mostly consisted of multiple showerheads that laid enclosed by a circular glass structure that generally allowed concealment of the people inside and a few shelves for holding towels.

"And there's a sauna right there," Topher said, pointing to the door on his right.

Anna looked at the communal shower with apprehension.

"So are these the male showers or the female showers?" she asked gradually, seemingly already sure of the answer.

Topher started to back away from her as he tried to think of a sensible way to explain.

"Well, ha, you see, funny thing about that, they both shower here but that really doesn't _mean_ anything," he laughed clumsily stumbling over his words. "Because Actives don't feel that _thing_, you know, that keeps men and women in separate bathrooms and . . ."

Suddenly, a showerhead above where Topher had backed into, turned on, spraying him decently before he could jump out of the way.

"And did I mention they're automatic?"

Anna covered her mouth to stifle her uncontrollable laughter.

"I'll get you a towel," she said with a grin, circling around the shower structure to where a stack of red towels were piled up. She grabbed one off the top and unfolded it as she walked back over to where Topher was now standing outside of the glass wall, trying to ring out the cuffs of his shirt. He reached out his hand for the towel but instead of handing it to him, she started trying to dry off his hair herself with gentle pats.

"Oh my God," she said stunned, shoving the towel into his hands. "I'm sorry. That was weird," she said, turning away from him with embarrassment.

"No," he said unable to stop the smile creeping up his face. "Okay, it was a little. I mean, I'm a big boy; I can do it myself but . . ."

"It's from working with kids for too long. It's a habit," she said a bit vehemently as if she was trying to justify herself.

"Well, on the bright side, it means you have a good maternal instinct," he said blithely, trying to soak up the water from his clothes.

Anna turned back to look at him and tilted her head to the side like she was trying to understand what exactly he meant by that, connotation-wise.

The room filled with a pregnant pause as they both thoroughly over thought what he had said.

Unable to take the tension, Topher cleared his throat as a means of getting back on topic and threw the towel into a dirty laundry bin nearby.

"Anyway, you shouldn't feel like your privacy is being violated while you shower," he finished.

Anna glanced above the wall of the shower configuration warily.

"With the exception of the cameras?"

It was moments like this that Topher knew why he wasn't the one doing the sales pitch for the Dollhouse.

"Those are for safety purposes only. It's not like anyone watches them for fun . . ."

"There are multiple people who can see them?" she demanded, a bit panicky.

Topher sighed. This wasn't going anywhere.

"Listen, I know this probably won't mean much but I, Topher Brink, personally promise that I won't watch you in the shower. I'll avoid seeing any shower tapes _at all_ within my power. If a shower camera comes up on my screen, I will look away and go play Minesweeper."

Anna smiled but didn't say anything.

"And you're not supposed to know this but there are really only like, four people including myself who have full access to these tapes and, as far as I know, none of them are perverts . . . to any troublesome degree," he said in a low, secretive voice.

She shook her head slightly, her grin not faltering.

"You gonna show me something else now?" she asked, hitting him lightly in the arm.

"I can show you the sleeping pods!" he said with an excited tenor.

"Can't say the word 'pod' makes me feel too good," she admitted, following him back into the hallway.

"I know it sounds like something creepy in a sci-fi flick and they kind of are but they're pretty cool," he said as they came to the entrance of one of the rooms. The room had a wall of glass panels that did not provide as thick concealment as the ones in the shower room so one could see people coming and going. Inside the room were five underground beds with frosted covers that formed a star shape with stools in between the beds and in the center of the room. High on the wall there was a darkened window installed for employees to look down into the rooms.

"All the rooms have five pods and they have a protective cover that closes when they go to sleep so that the air inside can . . ."

Topher stopped talking at the sound of Anna crashing to the floor. Her eyes were closed and her body lay sprawled out as if she had fainted. He dropped onto his knees as rapidly as he could and lifted up her head, tilting it back over his arm to try to allow more air into her lungs.

"Anna?" he called, trying to rouse her.

At an excruciatingly slow pace, Anna opened her eyes, looking up at Topher with a look of confusion until she rolled her head to the right and was reminded of the reason she passed out. Without warning, she started crying profusely, her hands flying up to cover her face. Topher, partially confused and partially tremendously uncomfortable at seeing a girl cry, did the only thing that made any sense to him and held her in a loose but supportive hug.

"Anna, do you want to move away from here?" he asked, using the same soothing tone he uses on the Actives.

Through her heavy crying, she managed a nod and Topher immediately helped her to her feet and started leading her back towards where the showers were. Now that he had in a standing position, instead of helping her back onto the floor, he let her lean on him like a support beam. Trying to swallow how ill at ease he was, he rubbed her back in a gentle motion as he looked past her, gauging how she was doing based on the noise she made.

"Do you wanna tell me what's wrong?" he asked, when she had started to calm down.

She looked at him with reddened eyes. "Everyone's here for a reason, right? Less than two weeks ago both my parents died," she said weepy.

"I'm so sorry," he said sincerely, moving a hand onto her shoulder.

She nodded, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

"After the funeral, I flew right back here to try to get back to my normal routine but that night my apartment was broken into."

She stopped to take in a deep, shaky breath.

"He locked me in my closet and took anything really valuable that I had. But the real reason I'm here is . . . I was in that closet for three days . . . Claustrophobia . . . PTSD."

"God," Topher murmured, putting a hand up to his forehead. "If I had known . . ."

"You couldn't have," Anna interrupted, her tone stronger as she tried to wipe her eyes clean. "Unless you read the minor stories in the paper. I suspect that's how they found me. I'm the perfect candidate: no family, very few friends who think I've been carted off to a mental hospital by now, few possessions left, no kids, no pets even though I was thinking of getting a dog, grief _and_ trauma. That's what they look for, isn't it? People with virtually no reason to live."

"What about your students?" he said, trying to help. Arguably, he didn't have much in his life outside of his job but he loved it and took so much pride in it that he never felt particularly empty. From the way she had talked about her students earlier, he wondered if she had been the same way.

Anna sighed. "They'll get a new teacher." She looked at him with her head tilted; the tears on her cheeks now dry. "Don't look so sad. I'm here because you'll fix me," she said in a marginally more optimistic tone, afraid that she had brought him down with her.

Topher hadn't been aware that he had looked sad but when she mentioned it, he tried to smile. In response, she looked down into his sweater.

"You smell good," she said casually, stepping away from him.

"Thanks," he said with a goofy smile plastered on his face that he couldn't suppress. Realizing he probably looked like an idiot, he changed the topic.

"Well, we've seen pretty much all the Active's facilities so unless you really want to see my office . . ."

"I do," she piped up.

"Really?" he asked, caught off guard. "Okay, yeah. I mean, I don't have to get you in the chair for another hour or so, so we can kill time there. I have games and stuff."

"That sounds _amazing_," she gushed with complete sincerity.

They walked down the hallway again, in the opposite direction of where the pods were, until they ended up back where they started at the center of the floor where a yoga lesson was in progress.

"I swear I'm not normally this emotionally unstable," Anna said, as they mounted the stairs that lead up to the second half floor.

"You know, I had a hunch," he said grinning back at her.

They stopped at the top of the stairs and Topher looked over at Anna to see a look of awe on her face.

"This is my office," he said proudly.

Anna walked into the middle of the room, spinning around to see everything. The main level of the office that they were standing on looked like the cross between an actual office and a rec room with things like a dart board, whack-a-mole, and a gumball machine mingling amongst multiple monitors and equipment. On the lower level were a few chairs and side tables and a one-person trampoline all set up in front of a large window wall that looked out over the Active's floor.

"This isn't an office. This is an apartment," she said, laughing. "Where's your bed?"

"In the back room over there," he said, pointing to the door behind them. "It's all cozy and protected and surrounded by things that buzz and blink all night."

"I was kidding," Anna said surprised. "You really live here?"

Topher pulled a face of doubt but ultimately nodded; well aware that his situation was strange but hoping she wouldn't judge him too harshly for it.

"That's . . . kind of cool. Arguably a bit crazy but kind of cool," she said walking over to his desk. "I guess it's true that if you want to know a lot about someone quickly, look at their room." She laughed to herself as she looked around. "Have you got enough chess boards?" she asked, pointing out three in eyeshot.

"I like to play against myself," he admitted.

"Well, that way you always win," she said with a smile, inspecting the board. "Is it white's turn to move here?" she asked, scrutinizing the game.

"Yeah," he said slowly, wondering if she was getting at something.

She moved a piece on the board, causing Topher to rush over and see what she had done.

"How did you see that?" he asked, noting that she had just set up the game so that on the next turn, white would be able to take any number of pieces and thereby penetrate the setup he had been building on the black side.

Anna shrugged as she walked down to the lower level to look out of his infamous window.

"You were probably looking at the game too long. Fresh set of eyes," she said, motioning to her face. "And I used to play a lot with my dad. He thought it would make me smarter."

Topher stared at the board a bit longer, trying to think of a way his black pieces could redeem themselves but came back to reality when he realized she had been silent for a while. He glanced down at Anna to see her transfixed on the Actives below, her head tilted to the side and a frown on her lips.

"I wonder if they're happy," she mused pensively.

Topher descended the stairs and moved to stand next to her, looking down on the Dolls below.

"I don't think they understand happy," he answered truthfully. "Not like we do."

Anna turned towards him, her gaze barely meeting his as if she was too distracted by her thoughts.

"Too bad."

Anna sighed lightly and finally looked directly at Topher.

"I would jump on your trampoline if I wasn't wearing a skirt," she said smiling to lighten the mood but it was clear that the 'too bad' had been directed at the Actives.

"So am I in the computer yet?" she asked, pointing over her shoulder at the computer on his desk.

"Uh, let me check," he said, snapping out of the thoughtful funk she had brought about and going up to the computer to look her up. All that had been entered so far was her name, age, and code name with a picture of her wearing a black and pink plaid shirt and standing in front of some bushes. "Hey, nice picture," he said smiling at her as she came up behind him to look over his shoulder.

"The same one from the article. It was taken the last time I went home before . . . you know. I grew up in Vermont but came to California for college and just never left. I wanted to escape the New England winters but I really miss having a big backyard sometimes. My dad was a botanist so we had a huge garden that I always used to help him keep. Actually, this pin is from him. He loved bugs. They went together: bugs and plants. I have a bunch of pins now, a butterfly, a centipede, a ladybug, a cockroach. It became a thing with my students and . . . I'm talking way too much about myself," she realized, embarrassed as she walked over to sit on his couch.

"No, no," he said, closing the file and going over to sit next to her. "If you want I could share some far too in depth information about myself. I have a lot of phobias: rodents, the dark, going out of my comfort zone which applies to pretty much every part of my life . . . and is kind of why I live here. I have a really bad snacking problem that will probably catch up with me one day. Oh, and half the time when I should be doing something important, I'm playing video games . . . or computer games . . . or board games, any game really. I even have laser tag but no one to play it with."

Anna grinned. "Can you keep a secret?"

Topher leaned in closer to her. "Yeah."

"I love laser tag . . . and I never one hundred percent grew out of gaming."

Topher's face grew very serious.

"If the Actives were asleep, we would play _so_ much laser tag," he said as if it was the direst thing in the world.

Anna burst out laughing at his reaction, clutching her side in pain.

"Well, I'm sorry we can't," she choked out between laughs. "But I was wondering," she started, calming down, "Can I get a last meal?"

"We could check out the kitchen," he offered, standing up. "You can actually get a chance to taste that great food I mentioned earlier," he said enthusiastically as if trying to rile her up.

"I was thinking more along the lines of junk food."

"I can help you out with that!" he said snapping his fingers as he walked over to his fridge. "What would you like? Name anything."

"Got anything resembling pizza?" she asked eagerly.

Topher opened up the freezer and pulled out two boxes, one in each hand, as he turned back around to show her.

"Squares or bagels? I had rolls but I ate them for lunch."

"I'll take the squares," she said pointing to the box on his right. "I'm pretty hungry."

He put the pizza bagel box back in the freezer and opened up the other one, pulling out the frozen pizza squares and breaking them up to put them in the toaster oven. Once they were all in the oven, he opened up the fridge.

"Drink?" he asked, peering inside. "Right now I only have juice boxes and beer."

"Anything stronger than beer?" Anna asked hopefully.

"Well, I have some old juice boxes that might have fermented," he offered reluctantly.

"I'll just take a fresh one."

"Apple, grape, or mixed berry?"

"Mixed berry, please."

"Perfect. Those are my least favorite," he said, tossing her the pouch which she caught with one hand. "Snack while we wait for the pizza? I have a whole drawer of inappropriate starches," he said joyfully.

"Anything onion-flavored?"

"Sour cream and onion chips?" he asked, holding up the bag.

Anna nodded vigorously as Topher grabbed a pre-meal snack for himself and rejoined her on the couch. Immediately, she popped open the bag and ate a chip like she hadn't had one in forever.

"I think I'm in love you your food collection," she joked, crunching down on a few more.

"I think I'm jealous of my food collection," he quipped back without thinking.

Anna stopped chewing as a flush started to develop on her cheeks and she looked away from him for a second. When she looked back at him, she smiled.

"Are you eating a Slim Jim?" she asked randomly, noting the brown stick he was chewing on.

"Yeah. I'm sorry! Do you want one?" he asked, feeling like a bad host for not asking. He never had guests in his office.

"No, no. They freak me out."

"What?!" he asked flabbergasted.

"They're died meat with this viscous, orangey liquid that you can squeeze out of them. It's scary! Like Twinkies," she insisted, making a face.

"You did not just diss Twinkies," Topher said with all the severity of someone whose family had just been insulted.

"They're cake that hasn't been baked! They don't expire! They're barely classifiable as a food product," she argued fervently.

"And if we find ourselves in an apocalypse you can always survive on Twinkies for that very reason!"

"Before you die from the fat and sugar."

"A delicious death," he said dreamily. "Have you ever even eaten one?" he asked, trying to confirm the validity of his argument.

"No."

"If I had Twinkies with me right now, I would be forcing you to eat one," he said passionately. "Next time!"

They both went quiet as the timer on the toaster oven went off, signifying that the pizza was done. Without saying anything, Topher got up to put their food on plates as they both reflected on what he had said. He had forgotten that what was happening right now probably would never happen again. In less than an hour, she would be a blank slate for the next five years.

He walked back over to the couch and handed Anna her plate which she took with a very somber thanks.

"When you wake up in five years, I will make sure that I have Twinkies and you will eat one and you will love it," he promised.

"How do you know you'll still be working here?" she asked disbelievingly. "Five years is a long time."

"I'll still be here," he said confidently. Why would he want to leave the best job he could get?

Anna smiled slightly as she bit into the pizza and for a while they both just sat in a comfortable silence and ate until Anna broke it with a line that almost had Topher choking on his food.

"You're a very nice executioner."

And that was it. That was what he had been looking for. The root of her trepidation didn't lie in modesty or phobias or fear of the staff. She was afraid she wouldn't wake up again.

"I'm not an executioner. You're not dying. You'll just be . . . asleep," he said in a strung out tone, trying very hard to convince her.

"Does it hurt?"

Topher thought about it for a second since he himself had yet to use the tech on himself but he knew the answer well enough from watching people's reactions and he didn't want to lie to her.

"Yes."

"Can I ask you to do me a really silly favor?" she requested hesitantly.

"Does it involve dancing because, if it does, this silly favor could turn into something terrifying," he warned jokingly as he finished off one of his pizza squares.

"Can you hold my hand . . . when I'm in the chair?" she asked shyly before shaking her head in shame. "God, I feel like one of the kinder-"

"Yes!" he interjected zealously, causing Anna to physically jump at his response. In an effort to cover up his fervor, he cleared his throat and followed with a very composed, "I'll do it."

Anna smiled, perceptibly more accepting of her fate.

"Thank you."

An alarm on Topher's watch went off, causing them to break eye contact as he tried to shut it off quickly.

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Anna asked grimly.

"I wish we could push it back but my staff have to go home and . . ."

She pressed a finger to his mouth to shut him up.

"I understand. I chose this, remember?"

Anna put down her empty plate and they both stood up.

"It's through there," he said pointing to the imprint room.

Two of Topher's lab assistants were already in the room prepping for the wipe.

"I saw it when we came in," she said as they walked into the room and she sat in the chair without needing to be asked. "I was going to ask about it, see how it works, but I figured you wouldn't be able to tell me."

While Topher went over to the computer to double check everything that had been set up, the assistants went to work at attaching wires to her forehead and setting the chair up properly. One of them took away Anna's glasses without asking and she frowned, her eyes darting around in an enough to find something to focus on.

"Topher?" she called out.

"Are you okay?" he asked, coming over to her side once he had finished.

"You're blurry."

"I'm still here though, regardless of how blurry I am," he said, taking her hand like he had promised. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

At the sound of her confirmation, the chair leaned back until her head was aligned with the machine. Her grip on Topher's hand tightened as the room was suddenly filled with the light from the imprint chair and Anna's groans of pain.

"Everything's going to be alright," Topher repeated quietly over and over as if trying to reassure himself as much as her.

Anna tried to suppress the urge to cry out again but was still clearly in pain as her body convulsed, her eyes shut tight. The process of removing someone's personality and memories and putting them onto a wedge takes longer than normal imprints but it wasn't long before Anna was completely silent as the chair moved back into its upright position and one of the lab assistants started collecting the wires and the wedge that now held Anna Calroy.

Topher watched intently as Whiskey opened her eyes and looked at him with the blank expression of an Active.

"Now that you're here," she said softly, looking from him to their still clasped hands.

Quickly, Topher took his hand away and looked over at his assistants who didn't seem to have heard her following half the script for establishing an Active/Handler relationship. Whiskey looked at her empty hand with a confused expression but then put it down and looked up at Topher.

"Did I fall asleep?" she asked as she should have done right when she woke up.

"For a little while," he responded, wondering if their initial dialogue would wield any negative results later on.

"May I go now?"

"If you like."


	2. Whiskey

_Chapter 2 - Whiskey_

It didn't take long before Whiskey became the most popular Active in the house.

Topher imagined what would happen if he were to tell Anna this and thinks she wouldn't believe him.

* * *

Strange thing number one happened one day when he had nothing much to do: no new wedges to be made or Actives to imprint or video games to play. He was passing time looking out of his overseeing window, down at the Actives going about their days, blissfully unaware that he is watching them; Just a bunch of roaming cattle in tank tops and sweatpants.

And then he noticed her. He's never looking for Whiskey when he stares out the window but he always ends up finding her eventually. There's nothing even distinct about her now. She's characterless until he makes her someone. All that separates her from the other drones she lives among is that he met her before she became a drone. And even so, that doesn't matter now and won't for almost five more years.

But he looked down at her, watched her walk from where she had probably been swimming laps as he can tell by her wet hair, and she stopped walking right in the middle of the floor.

That alone was enough to make him furrow his brows. Actives always behave purposefully. If one stops, there is a reason. He wondered if she stepped in something or perhaps, just felt the sting of an injury. Immediately, he started trying to remember if her last wipe had any abnormalities in it that could have somehow led to a headache.

But he stopped thinking, breathing when she looked up at him. Another thing Actives don't do: look up. Unless some kind of disrupting noise comes from the floor above them, Actives have no reason to consider what is going on right overhead. He's never even seen one master stairs without instruction that they must get to the imprint room, the only place they'd have to get to that's up any stairs.

She looked directly at him without any discernable reason.

That means she's aware that I'm watching her, he thought, feeling a bit like a voyeur for the first time since he started working there.

He wondered if this was something he did wrong. It could have been a learned behavior based on the many times she has gone upstairs to get her treatment but they weren't supposed to learn. Everything they know is supposed to stay consistent with each wipe.

But then, as if clueing him into why she has found him, she tilted her head to the side, and not just a slight head quirk that could be nothing, but a substantial bend in the neck that one might have while thinking.

That Anna had while thinking.

She looked down on the Actives and considered their lives in the same position and now Whiskey was doing the same from the opposite perspective.

Topher decided to tell no one and try to be more thorough with the next wipe.

* * *

"Hey Anna, I was wondering if you would want to go out with me? After you finish your Twinkie, of course," he said to the empty imprinting chair.

The staff had all gone home and there was no one except himself, the sleeping Actives, and the night security in the house but he knew the cameras in the room don't have microphones. He was just talking to himself as far as they can see and he does that quite a bit.

Initially he thought it would be best to just forget about her until it gets closer to five years, that way he won't be holding a torch if someone else comes along. Then he laughed at the thought of someone else coming along and decided it would be best to be prepared anyway, not wanting to stumble over himself when the opportunity comes, regardless of who the opportunity is.

He had imagined the scenario over and over, making changes where he saw fit.

He will take Whiskey's hand and Anna will wake up and say the usual, "Has it been five years already?" thing that they all say and he will hand her her glasses and ask her how she feels to make sure everything worked properly. She says, "I feel fine but do you have that Twinkie you promised me?" And he will cleverly pull it from behind his back even though he had actually put it behind the nearest computer. This may require considerable practice.

She begrudgingly tries the Twinkie and then looks at him defeated and says, "Okay, I was wrong. You were right."

And he will smile at her and ask her out if she's not too busy with the whole rebuilding her life thing and she will gladly say yes.

From there he decided that it might be best if they have their date later that day. She can go and get debriefed, get her clothes and glasses, and then come back to his office for the date since he would rather stay in than go out. She won't have anywhere else to go other than a lonely hotel room anyway.

He thinks they might start with a game of chess. They can talk while they play and he can see how well her father taught her. He wins, of course, but she just makes good-natured, snarky jokes about how arrogant he is and they start a new game. He teaches her a new strategy and she uses it against him, resulting in a win. She gloats in an exaggerated way, mimicking his own show of victory, and he asks if she would like to have dinner now but if she isn't done, he can wait for her downstairs. She smiles and says sure.

Down by the kitchen he has already set up a table and chairs for them and the kitchen employees treat them like customers at a restaurant. They talk long after their plates have been cleared.

By now it's pretty late, bedtime for the Actives, and he asks her if she wants to watch a movie. His first idea was that they could watch a horror movie but he thought that the margin for error with that plan was too great. She might be the type to get scared during horror movies and he could be the one to protect her, but if he gets afraid himself, especially if it's dark as it surely would be since they're watching a movie at night, he could embarrass himself in front of her. He thinks maybe if he rents an older horror movie that he knows isn't scary they can laugh about unrealistic effects and stupid decisions made by the characters. A classic zombie movie would be good, like _Night of the Living Dead_.

When it has gotten late, he walks her to a creepy black van in the garage and wishes her good luck in finding a job and an apartment and they make plans to meet again as a disgruntled driver watches them with a glare for having to work so late.

They kiss goodbye and he tries to wave at her through the blackout windows as she is driven to the hotel she will stay at until she gets her life back in order.

Those were the plans he had but he knew they were subject to change.

* * *

"What did you say?" he asked in a tone that was far more demanding than you are supposed to use when talking to an Active.

He could swear his heart stopped. He's too young to have a heart attack, right? A stroke, maybe?

"Yes, Topher, I enjoy my treatments," Whiskey repeated back with the unwavering, eerie tone they all use, her big brown eyes completely empty and unaware.

But she said his name.

His name!

The head tilt thing was atypical enough but now she was calling him by name.

It was in the programming for the Actives to understand only a few key things in relation to other people: they know the difference between Actives and non-Actives but don't understand it outside of Actives being people like them and non-Actives being people they must listen to. As far as whom they know on a slightly deeper level, they are only supposed to know three people: Dr. Saunders, Topher, and their Handler. It was set up so that Actives feel the deepest connection with their Handler but know their face and not their name so that their Handler can be switched if necessary. Dr. Saunders comes next since they have to trust him enough to let him examine them fully; the "Dr. Saunders is nice" line they all agree on is kind of a universal, mitigated version of the more personal connection and dialogue established between an Active and Handler. As far as his relationship with the Actives went, they know his name but never say it and they know that he gives treatments. If someone refers to him, Actives know who is being talked about but the link never goes further than that.

And yet Whiskey has learned to say his name.

This time he wonders if it even has anything to do with Anna at all. This was probably all Whiskey. If she, to at least some degree, feels a bond with him because of the Handler-dialogue incident, there's a chance she might have put more thought into his name because she trusts him.

This thought scares him more than he would willingly admit and not just because he's afraid her Handler or someone else might notice.

* * *

She entered the room wearing a light blue button down tucked into black cigarette pants and a fake pearl necklace. Her hair was in curls, her lips were a bright red, and there was a clear and literal spring in her step. On top of her clothes she had on a red and white striped apron with an ID badge clipped to the apron pocket, the uniform of all the volunteers.

"Hi!" she said cheerfully, drawn out in a sing-song way that made the greeting sound like it had two syllables.

Topher looked over his shoulder at her quickly before turning back to his computer and finishing up the command sequence he was typing before he forgets.

"Hello, Betty. How was the hospital today?" he asked the girl who looked like Whiskey.

"Oh it was swell!" Betty said enthusiastically, untying her apron and draping it over the swivel chair to her left. "That Mr. Jenson! Everyone thinks he's such a hardboiled fella but he's a really sweet guy. He told me all these stories about his grandkids that had me tickled. Folks really need to listen more. Then maybe he wouldn't go ape on the nurses every time they forget his applesauce," she said, with her hands on her hips and a smile that showed all her teeth.

"Maybe it's just you," Topher offered, motioning to the imprint chair.

"Ah, shucks, don't give me a line!" Betty said modestly, sitting down in the chair and getting comfortable. "But, you know, he did say I reminded him of his wife," she remembered, turning her head to look at him as he started the machine.

"Imagine that," he said, mustering up some fairly realistic sounding surprise.

Of course, she was supposed to remind Mr. Jenson of his wife. That was a key part of her assignment. Betty the Throwback Candy Striper was a repeat imprint who was always pretty entertaining to see and was a welcome relief from all the lascivious women he frequently had to make Whiskey into. The last time she had come in she said that she and Mr. Jenson had a nice chat about how there were "no good flicks at the multiplexes anymore."

When the chair moved into its upright position, Whiskey blinked vacantly up at him through long, fake eyelashes.

"Did I fall asleep?"

* * *

She had gone through all the end-of-assignment motions of changing into her sweatpants, washing her face and her obligatory visit to Dr. Saunders, so when he saw her, she was walking out of the doctor's office with a lollipop in her mouth. Impulsively, he ran out of his office and down the stairs, trying not to make too much noise, lest he distract the Actives.

Thankfully, Actives walk slowly so catching up with her was easy.

"Whiskey!" he shouted, jumping out in front of her, blocking her path.

"Hello, Topher," she said softly, taking the candy out of her mouth. It was orange. He wondered if this really was something significant.

"Did you just see Dr. Saunders?" he asked, calming his voice.

"Dr. Saunders is nice."

"That he is . . . Hey! Why did you choose that lollipop?" he asked, swiftly changing his pitch as if the question just popped into his mind.

Whiskey looked intently at the candy like a kindergartener trying to understand calculus for a few seconds before looking up at Topher a little distressed.

"I don't know."

Topher sighed, having expected that answer, but pressed a little further anyway.

"Do you like the color? Does it taste better than the others? Anything?" he asked, trying very hard to work something out of her even though he knew it would be to no avail.

"I don't know," she repeated, her tone identical to how it was the first time.

Topher nodded defeated.

"Of course, you don't."

* * *

What it boils down to is he wants to be the captive in some kind of real life _Natural Born Killers_.

Topher knows it's going to end badly from the second he gets the order.

Well, the order wasn't technically _Natural Born Killers_ but it really was. When DeWitt had given him the paperwork, he had said, "So the man wants to be the hostage of Mickey and Malloy but with the foreshadowing of a Bonnie and Clyde ending and no one gets hurt in the process?" She didn't seem to get the first half of the reference, not really her kind of movie he'd imagine, but she did say that safety was the key here.

And also, kind of an impossibility.

But he makes them well: bloodthirsty, reckless, Southern-accented, and paranoid as it comes with the package deal. The man, Bobby, as played by Alpha, is the brains of the operation and also the more violent one; he's the one who suggested most of the mayhem they think they caused. His girlfriend, Crystal, as played by Whiskey, is stupid, spacey, and sexual and relies on and trusts Bobby completely as she thinks he saved her from her former life by introducing her to the exciting life of crime.

He warns their Handlers over and over when they bring them in for their treatments but they both seem to think everything will be fine.

Alpha goes first, rubbing his hands together when it's over and bellowing a slightly annoyed, "Where's my girl?"

"Hang on. She's coming," Topher insists as Whiskey sits in the chair and smiles at him meaninglessly before the process starts.

When the chair moves upright, she looks over at him and says a druggy, "Thanks," before running across the room and leaping into Alpha's arms.

That's another thing: Whiskey's imprints often thank him. He knows that wasn't something he threw in consciously but maybe it is in there somewhere.

They're joined at the mouth in seconds, her legs wrapped around his waist, and Topher watches as their Handlers have the difficult job of trying to pull them apart so they can get down to wardrobe.

When they go missing, Topher's too worried to rub it too hard in anyone's face.

Almost.

* * *

Programming-wise, Whiskey is just another Active.

So everyone believes.

While the name thing persisted, a behavior he wholly credited with that one little mistake during her initial wipe, the head tilt thing turned out to be a onetime occasion. Nothing important, he told himself. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he might have been imagining it or maybe it was a tiny detail he had looked over; his tech was relatively new then and he had updated it since. Or maybe there _had_ been some noise that caused her to look up at him. Maybe he had bumped the window loud enough for her to notice.

He would stand in front of his window, now actually trying to find her and she would walk past in her own little world without even so much as a momentary pause. Whatever was going on there that one time was thankfully gone.

However, either no one noticed the name thing or no one knew that it was not part of the program. It really was so minor in the context of things but it had some significance to him.

Also no one commented on the fact that even some of his more belligerent or cold Whiskey imprints often found a second to thank him for the treatment. Of course, it didn't happen with every single imprint and other Active's imprints sometimes thanked him as well but often an imprinted personality is so focused on what they had to go do, they forget they just a treatment even though they understand the concept and think they're enjoyable.

But like the head tilt, he knew that the thanking thing could just be something he had raised in significance because it was her. He wasn't keeping score with all the Actives. Maybe they all thanked him an equal amount and he just never paid enough attention. Or maybe Whiskey's imprints were overall friendlier than some of the others, leading to more polite gestures.

He couldn't be sure.

However, he did think that if anyone were to notice the naming or the gratitude he would have thought it would be her Handler. She probably should have seen something strange about Whiskey's attitude towards him, noting idiosyncrasies was what her whole job boiled down to, but she was probably too busy basking in the glory of having the number one Active.

"She's special," he had overheard her Handler say once.

What did that even mean to the house anyway?

So Topher isn't the only person in the world to notice that she's beautiful. Is that really something so prize-worthy? It certainly shouldn't be for her Handler.

"Hello, Topher."

He hears her behind him, in for yet another treatment.

Whiskey by nature isn't a very smiley Active like a few of the others are, but when she comes up to the imprint room she's always smiling at him in that bland way they do. It's probably just the associations the room has for her: treatments which are supposed to be pleasant and Topher who's supposed to make everything alright.

In the corner is her Handler, beaming with something akin to pride.

He wonders if she gets paid on commission.

* * *

DeWitt is clearly worried about him.

Although she treats him like an employee in the sense that she is respectful towards him and shows appreciation for his skill, he always felt like underneath her austere exterior, she mothers him a bit; at least as much as Adelle DeWitt could mother someone. Whether this is because he is the youngest person working there who still has all their mental capabilities intact, she views his behavior as childish or because she, for some unexplainable reason, sees herself in him, he's not certain of.

Either way, when she came into his office that day, he could tell she was concerned for his well being.

It was his birthday and although he didn't go around broadcasting it (he had a premature fear of aging; the idea of being unable to be fully functional on one's own and the fact that he will one day have to rock wrinkles didn't sit well with him), there were some people who knew. Well, one. He had asked one of his assistants to pick up a birthday cake for him and if they had bothered to check the wishes written in icing, they would have seen that it was his birthday cake that he planned on eating solo.

DeWitt had to have looked it up. He hadn't even lit any candles yet.

"Topher, it is your birthday today, is it not?" she had said before he even had a chance to say hi.

"Uh . . . yeah," he answered a bit skeptically, not looking up from his computer. "Woo, happy birthday to me. Another year down; an indeterminate amount to go," he said, his tone sarcastic and clearly focused on other things.

"You didn't request to have the day off," she pointed out, slowly approaching his desk. "Nor did you mention it to anyone. I would have though the halls would be filled with your cries of celebration."

"Well, there's some cake on the counter if you want a slice," he said, looking up at her and smiling.

DeWitt smiled back and took a seat on his couch, frowning a bit as she tried to get comfortable on the lumpy cushions but then quickly composing herself.

"On the contrary, I wanted to make you an offer," she said lacing her fingers together.

Topher laughed uncomfortably.

"Why is it that when you say that I feel like I should be looking for exits?" he asked, turning his chair around to face her.

"Then let's call it a favor," she said, leaning back. "Every year on your birthday I will allow you to imprint an Active for your own purposes. Make yourself a friend in return for all the marvelous work you do for this house."

His jaw dropped at her suggestion.

"Really?" he asked avidly, unable to contain his excitement.

"Really. We shall call it . . . 'diagnostic testing.'"

Topher jumped out of his seat, talking a mile a minute.

"Oh, this is so great! I was wondering if I would ever get a chance to try the tech for my own reasons, not that I thought about this a lot but I did start making my own imprint for this exact occasion. It's named Alex. I thought a unisex name would be good because I'm really not picky about who it will be, I would just want to make a few tiny changes if it's a girl because, I mean, come on, but, wait," he said stopping suddenly. "Why are you letting me do this?"

Ms. DeWitt stood up and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Because we all have needs."

* * *

As great as the Alex imprint was (and it was; he really had made the perfect friend for himself) and as truthful as he had been when he said that he didn't care which Active he used, shamefully the first thing he thought was, is Whiskey available today?

She wasn't, of course.

She was the most requested Active.

And it was probably a good thing she was out of the question, he thought as Romeo sat in the chair.

If she had been around he would have wanted someone other than Alex, someone who seemed more and more like a built-up dream as time passed, and that could only lead to problems with DeWitt after she had just given him this privilege.

* * *

No one thought Topher's use of the phrase "space whore" was amusing no matter how accurate it was.

But that was, in essence, what he was making.

The client was a lonely developer of hardware or software or something. Topher couldn't remember and that was saying something. The guy was so much of a no name that even he had never heard of him but he was apparently rich enough to afford a great big fanboy-ish present to himself.

Her back story is that she's a space explorer in some kind of world where this kind of job exists since the technology has developed enough to allow for far, comfortable travel to the ends of the galaxy. In her voyages, she's trying to find both useful undiscovered materials and workable new living conditions to accommodate the growing fear of overpopulation and is stopping by the home planet for a refuel and a "special tension-relieving visit" to her old friend with benefits, Mr. Client. The kind of story you'd expect from the name 'space whore' really.

In the creation of her feelings for the client it was specified that they were to be based in an attraction to his intelligence and personality and not a physical love of his pudgy midsection and male pattern baldness. Usually, people want all three but that was probably some sign of his self-awareness and/or insecurities. He wanted her to be smart and both impressed and knowledgeable when it comes to technology and engineering so that when he is done having wild sex with her, she can help him create the next best thing while telling stories of all the amazing things she has found in her make believe job. Topher was afraid a tech fetish might be the actual result.

The client also wanted her aggressive. It's best not to speculate on the specifics of that part.

"I'm so ship-lagged," she sighed, climbing out of the chair and bending her knees a few times. "I really need to tweak the fuel gage to warn me farther in advance so I won't have to go full-speed ahead on home to avoid ending up in oblivion . . . again."

She ran her fingers through her hair a few times, messing it up a bit as she bent over to inspect the imprinting chair.

"Ah, a chair that uses waves for human personality imprinting technology. I haven't seen one of this design before. Who made this piece of beautiful?" she asked, running a caressing hand along the back of it.

"That would be me!" Topher said, smiling proudly. He had been hoping she would comment on something he made. Admittedly, if she hadn't, he probably would have been hurt.

She whipped her head around and smirked at him, stalking towards him dangerously.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, snaking her arms around his neck and closing the gap between them. He stood up a little straighter with his hands held up in an arrest position so that he wouldn't accidently touch her and tried to back away but she just followed him, her grip tight.

Her Handler loudly cleared her throat from the corner of the room and she reluctantly loosened her hold on the now, frozen still Topher.

"That's right," she said, backing away from him slowly. "I'm going to visit an old friend. But maybe I'll see you around later?" she said brazenly, winking.

Topher laughed awkwardly and hoped that when she comes back, he could just make one of his assistants deal with her.

* * *

When Space Whore (her actual name was Leia but that was so unbelievably pathetic even for him to use that he preferred his nickname for her) came back it was the dead of night so no one was around except the night security guards that were hiding in their little camera viewing room that probably doubled as a fallout shelter. Her Handler had gone home once they got back to the garage since imprinted Actives can find their way without help. Consequently, Space Whore showed up unescorted.

But Topher didn't know this until he could feel someone else's presence in the room with him.

He turned around to see her in her natural attire which put him in the mindset of a futuristic Lara Croft who had gotten tips from a prostitute. Her top which exposed bare midriff (among bare other things) was black, tight and shiny with silver piping and she was wearing shorts made of the same material. Her shoes were tall boots without heels, the only notably practical thing about her outfit, and had silver buckles along the sides. Around her waist she wore a silver tool belt that he assumed held things like a phone and keys since, if she had any pockets, there's no way she would be able to fit anything in them; her clothing was practically a second skin.

However, all this was fairly predictable considering the job and he had seen numerous other things like it in his time there albeit, they weren't usually on her. What disturbed him most about her appearance was actually her hair and make-up. Wild hair and dark, heavy make-up would be the expected touches on her look but, contrary to her scant attire, she sported very tasteful make-up that highlighted how naturally pretty she was and her hair was pulled half up in a very flattering way and had little metal clips and twists woven into it to add to the overall 'sci-fi' theme. From the neck up, she could be going to a classy formal event.

It was such a startlingly threatening combination. He instinctively backed away a bit when he saw her.

"Hello, tech boy," she said smoothly, approaching him with that same gleam in her eye that made him want to get her in the imprinting chair as quickly as possible.

"Hello. Are you ready for your – . . ."

But he was unable to finish the key word of the command phrase before she shoved, literally shoved him, into the wall.

For a second, he truly thought she was going to beat him up until her mouth came crashing down onto his.

He immediately tried to push her away, acknowledging the fact that this was so wrong, but she was preternaturally strong and determined, elements that went with the aggressive personality that lead them to this position in the first place. She didn't budge, instead grabbing his hands at the wrists and placing them on her waist, almost like a suggestion that was really more of a demand.

For a moment he thought that maybe resisting further would be useless; he knew the strength he gave her and knew he couldn't top her without really injuring her somehow. Of course, this rationalization came just as she was molding her every curve against him and running her fingers through his hair in a way that kept his head right where she wanted it.

And so he lost himself (he was only human, right?), holding her waist like she had wanted and kissing her back with equal force as if rising to some kind of challenge because she was beautiful and warm and he was so not a good person right now.

He was so caught up in how good it felt to finally let go that he didn't notice at first when her hands slid down from his head, trailing along his chest, intentions so clear and yet, he wasn't paying close enough attention so when they found their destination he was too far gone to stop her.

He tried to suck in a breath but she still had his mouth, as if she was afraid to move away for fear that he might talk and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to forget that this was probably the equivalent of stealing boxes of office supplies in a normal desk job.

But when she finally released his lips, clearly thinking she had him so trapped he couldn't resist, he choked out a tentative and strangled, "treatment," through deep pants.

She leaned away from him and rolled her eyes, taking her hands off him slowly as if giving him time to change his mind.

"Never heard a guy call out that one before," she said with a smirk when she realized it was over. "But it's your call."

She sauntered away from him and slid into the chair, the fabric of her shorts on the seat making a horrible sound as she got comfortable. With labored breaths, he tried to compose himself and wipe her without losing his own mind over what had transpired.

Surely, he had violated the terms of his job, something he knew even though he couldn't remember every exact term of his contract. He looked over at the security camera in the corner as the room filled with light from the chair. It was facing the chair from the front so everything had to have been caught on tape.

What if no one had been watching at the time? Did they ever review night tapes randomly?

And it wasn't just his job security that was weighing on him; in a way, it was like he had disrespected _her_. Even if she was the one who started it.

"Did I fall asleep?"

Topher hadn't been paying attention and yet, when he looked over at her, it was so incongruous and disconcerting to see Whiskey's blank expression on the body of someone else.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah," he answered, his thoughts not all with him.

"May I go now?"

He rubbed his forehead, feeling like he had been hit with an anvil.

"Sure, go," he said carelessly waving her away. He couldn't look at her anymore.

When he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore, he fell back against the wall and allowed himself to slide down onto the floor, resting his head in his hands.

"You are sad."

The voice made him jump slightly, not realizing that she was still in the room. Still dressed in that slutty cyberpunk getup that contrasted with her big, empty eyes.

"Yeah, I am," he said, almost condescendingly, frustrated and taking it out on her. It's not her fault, he reminded himself forcefully. If it's anyone's, it's yours.

"Were you not your best?" she asked curiously, walking over to him as if she would be able to tell if she got a closer look.

Topher chuckled.

"No, I wasn't my best," he answered honestly, staring straight ahead. "I really wasn't."

"You should always try to be your best."

* * *

The cries of pain made him freeze in his place.

It wasn't screaming, which was probably why it took so long for anyone to react and find out what was going on. Just weak cries of confusing, confusing pain.

Less than a minute later, Alpha was dragged into the imprinting room by his Handler and two security guys, blood all over his face, and Topher knew everything had changed. That peaceful, repetitive world of the Active was not nearly as easy to control as they had all assumed.

"What happened?" Topher demanded as the three men tried to force a resistant Alpha into the chair.

"He attacked Whiskey with pruning shears," one of the security guys shouted in frustration at the solid fight Alpha was putting up.

Whiskey.

Attacked. He said attacked. Not murdered, just attacked, Topher thought quickly, putting both hands on his forehead as his stomach dropped into his feet. Probably only got her arm or something. Dr. Saunders can fix it. He probably is right now. But I can't ask now. Diagnose Alpha.

He started pulling up files as quickly as his computer would let him until every one of Alpha's imprints passed before him on the main 3-D monitor for him to screen for aberrations. Nothing. He looped them again, slower this time.

DeWitt stormed in strikingly calm as she looked over at Alpha, still wrestling against the guards.

"How? How did this happen?" she asked, crossing her arms as she stared down Topher.

"I don't know!" he insisted fervently. "I don't know, some residual memory, active neurons from a previous engagement. All I can do is run a full range diagnostic. I'm bringing up every last one of his prior builds to see if anything matches."

DeWitt looked over at the screens for a second and then back to Topher.

"You do not leave this room until it's done," she said as Topher nodded in humbled agreement. "And when you've finished, send him to the Attic."

DeWitt left, leaving Topher to focus back on the displays so intently that Alpha's voice was barely audible behind him. Still nothing. We'll have to try something else. Oh, fun.

"I don't understand. Was I not my best?" Alpha asked, trying to push his way out of the restraining hands. "I was making art!"

Topher closed his eyes for a second and tried to stifle a shudder.

"Alpha, you need to settle. You need a treatment!" Alpha's Handler said forcefully, trying to tap into his programming.

Alpha agreed almost nervously, calming down substantially as he slid his hands into place on the chair. The guards let go of him and left the room as Alpha's Handler continued to talk him down, until he was reclining in the chair on his own.

"He's good!" he shouted to Topher, who rushed over to his main computer.

"I enjoy my treatments," Alpha said in the normal Active tone, looking over at him.

"Then you're gonna love this one," Topher said emphatically, typing in the commands. "It's kind of a greatest hits."

Just as the machine started to work, Alpha bolted upright only to be pushed back down by his Handler. In retaliation, he kicked his Handler with both feet, knocking him into a nearby computer, causing sparks to shoot up and keys to be pressed. Topher looked up at the screen to see his command ruined and his blood ran cold. All the files he had brought up to inspect, all the people he had made, were activated. Alpha called out loudly in pain.

"I need help in here!" Topher yelled into his office to his assistants who had been doing God knows what the whole time. The two white-coated men on duty rushed in, all fiercely trying override the command but to no avail.

Alpha's Handler, in an attempt to keep Alpha's head in the proper area of the chair, put a hand on Alpha's neck only to have Alpha latch onto his head and dig his thumbs into his eye sockets.

"I understand Hell now," he growled over the screams of his former protector.

His Handler fell to the ground and Topher, having watched the whole thing in revolted awe, could not react fast enough.

"Shut it down!" Topher shouted, pulling the plugs on the machine as Alpha's body lay limp and they all let out breaths they had been holding the entire time.

There was a moment of beautiful silence that lasted all too short before Dr. Saunders entered annoyed.

"Topher, what the hell is going on here?" he asked. Someone had forgotten to tell him.

Suddenly, Alpha jumped out of the chair and attacked Dr. Saunders, punching him with one arm as he smashed the monitor that display the failed experiment with the other in order to get something to cut him with. Topher ducked down behind the chair and pushed the button for the elevator but before the elevator could even move, Alpha had already cut down Dr. Saunders and Topher's two assistants who had been there to help him in a bloody mess that Topher's hiding spot could not shield him from.

The warning alarms went off far too late.

I'm going to die, Topher realized as he tried to crawl further into the corner. And I wish I could say I have no regrets but . . .

And then something surprising happened.

Alpha left.

He just walked out of the room by way of Topher's office.

Suddenly, there was the crash of a door being slammed and almost instantly Topher knew he had gone into the room where the Actives original wedges and the generators are kept. Apparently, there was something Alpha wanted more than senseless killing. Since he assumed Alpha wasn't out to destroy his mattress, he prayed he was just going after the generators and not the wedges, even if the idea of the power and air systems being shut off did terrify him.

He waited for a little, feeling safe where he was and thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, the lights remained intact. When he was sure Alpha wouldn't come back into the room Topher ran out the other side to find someone, only now noticing the blood on his shirt. It wasn't his blood, by some freakish stroke of luck he had remained unharmed, but a mix of the four people who lay dead in the imprint room that were now spread across his white shirt.

When he got onto the main floor, he looked into the large window of his office and saw no one. Alpha had left the heavily populated areas a while ago. He was trying to escape.

All the Actives had been moved off the floor by the attendants and probably put to bed where they can be safely locked away. There were a few people running around through the corridors but aside from them and a dead body in the corner, Echo's Handler Samuelson, that showed Alpha's progress, he was alone.

"Help?" Topher called out weakly to no one.

As if responding to his request, the security team, armed to the teeth, descended the stairs with Dominic leading them.

"Secure the exits! Anyone tries to breech, shoot 'em in the head . . . twice!" he called out to his armored men. "Topher. Topher!"

He turned around to see Dominic in front of him with a very large weapon.

"Guns! Can I have one?" he asked pleadingly. He had never fired a gun before, let alone held one, but the idea of having one made him feel so much safer.

Dominic wouldn't hear of it, instead demanding to know what had happened, but Topher couldn't articulate an answer, instead describing the results, unable to put the gory scenes out of his mind. In the last five minutes, he had been more terrified than he ever had in his life. He was surprised he was able to get out a sentence.

"Alpha. He experienced a composite event," DeWitt summarized, coming up behind them. Topher nodded in agreement.

Soon Dominic was off on the hunt with DeWitt heading in the reverse direction and Topher could only stand and look down at his empty, albeit a little blood-spattered, hands.

There was nothing more he could do here.

Defeated, he walked away from the center of the room, towards the stairs. He wanted to see the damage Alpha did when he disappeared into the backroom since that was the only way he could really assist now, but he stopped when he noticed Dr. Saunders' office. There was a body on the examination table.

Whiskey.

Fearfully, he approached the room to see her lying on her back, her face covered with thick pads of gauze although he still knew it was her. He covered his mouth with his hand in shock. Her face . . .

"She's one of the lucky ones," said an attendant Topher hadn't noticed when he entered. She was sitting in a chair next to the desk with a roll of gauze wound around her hand.

"Is she okay?" he asked, moving next to her body and slowly peeling off the pads to see deep cuts running across her face, two on her left cheek, one diagonally across her forehead, and one perpendicular to her lips.

"I gave her enough painkillers to keep her knocked out until we get someone in to sew her up."

Topher could have laughed out loud at the phrasing she had used if it were a different situation. Sewing up Dolls; that's what you do when they break. Fabric ones, at least.

But what was going to happen to her now? They'll sew her up but there will be scars that aren't going to away. Rossum is a billion dollar corporation. Surely, there is money set aside to fix her. A few weeks of plastic surgery and she will be good as new. She signed a contract . . .

"Is there something you need?" the attendant asked, standing up. Topher hadn't noticed how long he had been staring at Whiskey's face. He discreetly covered her with the gauze again.

"Uh, drugs," he said pointing at himself.

"Are you injured?" the attendant asked skeptically.

"Not physically. I just need something to keep my brain from going boom," he joked dryly to the equally deadpan attendant.

"I'm not a doctor. I just worked behind the scenes at a hospital once," she admitted, putting the roll away. "I could give you something over the counter."

Topher shook his head. "That's okay," he said, motioning to the door. "I'm just gonna . . . Take care of her."

"Wait!"

Topher looked back at the attendant inquisitively.

"You're a doctor, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah but not this kind of doctor," he said, pointing to Whiskey's sleeping form.

"But, you could figure out how to do stitches, couldn't you?" she asked, hopefully.

Topher sighed, looking over at Whiskey.

Why does everything always happen to you, he wondered, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I guess . . . get me a needle and thread."

* * *

The meeting with DeWitt afterwards was exhausting. After an extensive account of exactly what happened to Alpha and what this meant in terms of him, the House, and Rossum, she got onto other matters that, while not his department, he didn't feel like he would be allowed to get away from hearing about even if he asked.

Yes, it's odd that Alpha found it necessary to destroy his original personality.

Yes, we'll need better security and more bodyguard-like Handlers.

Yes, Echo especially needs protection.

Yes, we'll need to find a lot more Dolls.

" . . . Especially because every Doll he encountered was slaughtered with the one exception of Whiskey," Ms. DeWitt finished, now bringing her focus from the staff members who try to find candidates to Topher.

"Which brings me to a special assignment I have for you."

"So I should break out the comically large imprinting chair this time?"

DeWitt allowed his joke to fall and leaned against her desk with a very serious expression.

"The rest of you may return to your jobs and homes," she called out to the room. Topher looked over his shoulder to watch the staff exit solemnly but he didn't think it was anything he should be worried about, even if it was like being called down to the principal's office. You start worrying about what they caught you doing only to find out you won an award. His department was generally kept secret from everyone anyway except DeWitt and, occasionally, Dominic. The only reason he had talked freely before was so that they would be aware of potential threats in the future; even if Alpha was claimed to be dead, a repeat event could occur.

"So what's my new mission?" he asked indifferently.

DeWitt let out a breath and stood up straight.

"While we have hoards of potential candidates for replacement Dolls and Handlers we appear to be in need of a House physician and I'm afraid those aren't as easy to come by," she said raising her eyebrows pointedly.

Topher laughed dubiously and eyed DeWitt in confusion.

"I don't think I get where you going with this," he paused and held up a finger. "Correction: I get where you're going with this but I don't understand why."

"Whiskey, what with her unfortunate disfigurement, will have to be considered out of service as an Active. However, she is still to remain here under contract and as such, must have another way of finishing her required five years." She spoke clearly and detached and somehow this provoked Topher to react as if trying to balance the emotion in the room.

"Yes, but _Whiskey_ didn't sign that contract. Someone who looks a heck of a lot like Whiskey did and I don't think she'll appreciate the little adjustments made to her face while she was asleep." He couldn't say her real name. Partially because he didn't want DeWitt to know he remembered it and partially because admitting she exists and wasn't something he dreamt up was becoming harder as time went on.

"And dealing with that truth will be something to face at a later date. For now, we have many people in need of medical treatment and we need to prioritize. You have an hour to make the imprint and prepare Whiskey. The imprint will need to be permanent in the sense that her GPS strip will be removed and all Active command responses will need to be wiped. She cannot know she is an Active."

"Identity crisis ahoy."

"I assume I won't need to tell you the necessary skills she will be required to have?"

"I'm guessing doctor skills would be a good place to start," he said sarcastically, but when DeWitt's severe look didn't change, his grin dropped and he cleared his throat. "I know what to do."

DeWitt dropped her arms and walked closer to Topher, her heels clicking softly on the floor as she spoke in an almost concerned voice.

"Topher, I want to make sure that completing this task will not pose any problems for you," she said, her manner becoming sharper.

"What do you mean?" Topher asked, nearly stammering with unease but trying to force a collected grin anyway.

"You seem to have a certain . . . affinity for that body."

Topher lost his footing for a second, realizing that the principal had actually caught him stealing test tubes this time. She knew something about him and Whiskey. Did someone warn her about how he seemed to form a connection with . . . Anna before she was wiped? Did one of his assistants blab about the hand-holding Active/Handler name issue? Or was it the big one . . .?

His mouth dropped open slightly, more in astonishment than desire to speak.

"Mr. Dominic brought a rather curious tape to my attention involving you and Whiskey," she said, answering his unspoken question.

"That wasn't my fault!" he blurted out avidly. "I was just minding my own business and she. . ." He mimed the action of a lion pouncing on its prey to complete his sentence.

"Regardless of how aggressive an Active is, offering her a treatment should have directed her attention elsewhere," DeWitt interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "Unless it didn't work . . ."

"No," he insisted, knowing how on edge everyone currently was about Active oddities after what had happened. "I just . . . couldn't say it fast enough," he said, his voice weakening with every attempt at protest.

"Before you got . . . caught up," she finished with a cavalier note present in her response.

Shamefully, he lowered his head, bracing himself for the onslaught that he really felt he deserved at this point.

"You aren't in trouble, Topher," she said, surprisingly gentle as if she understood and forgave him. He lifted his head hopefully. "However, should this happen again . . ."

"It won't," he interrupted curtly.

"Excellent," she said smiling and walking back over to her desk. "I bring this up now because I want you to remember that this imprint is to be made for the house. Every measure you take should be for the good of our Actives and, as I must remind you, you will be working closely with her and if you think this may be difficult, I suggest you add a little insurance so that nothing like this," she said holding up the tape that had been sitting on her desk, "occurs a second time. We wouldn't want to lose another doctor for foolish reasons."

"Understood."

* * *

Something occurred to him once he sat down, completely ready to start making the new Dr. Saunders.

He had been able, for the most part, to put Whiskey's real self out of his mind for the last few years but it was now that coming back to that real self would be difficult, that he suddenly thought of her again and from those suppressed memories he realized something.

Anna Calroy could never have been a figment of his imagination.

Of course, he had always know she was real deep down but after creating imprint after imprint for so long, many of which found their into her body, he had been starting to doubt if he hadn't just made her too. Maybe one day he had just been messing around and decided he wanted to create a nice girl to talk to and eat pizza with. Who doesn't want that?

But what had made him realize that he could have never done that was not because he was always pretty good about following rules or because he would never want to create fabricated romantic emotions directed at himself (if Leia the Space Whore hadn't driven that point home he didn't know what would), it was that when he tried to imagine what the perfect woman would be, as he had often done before, Anna Calroy was not that woman at all.

Anna obviously had many qualities that he already knew he liked, that was part of what drew him to her, but there were other things about her that he never would have thought he would want someone to have and yet, they made him like her more. If he had created this perfect woman, there would be no mystery, nothing to learn about her. Sure, he was a genius and could think of many little details he could include to make someone more interesting but they really can't be considered quirks if they are intentional.

And that revelation was part of the reason why, as he started to decide on traits to give the new Dr. Saunders, he found that he did so with very little enthusiasm. Unlike Anna, Dr. Saunders would be completely predictable. He will know every trait he gives her and be able to infer even more based on every trait. She will be exactly what he makes her.

He started with job skills, obviously giving her a strong medical background that covers multiple mediums and giving her a nearly photographic memory. He gave her all the information she will need to know about the House, names, occupations, procedures. Computer skills went right in after, obviously a necessity not just in her job but in life although it's not like she's going to have one outside of her job. He considered giving her defensive skills but instead only gave her a sufficient amount of strength to be able to fight back.

He made her feminine, kind and nurturing towards the Actives. He gave her morals and the passion to defend them but upon realizing that this could easily provoke her to quit, he also gave her numerous phobias, enough to make her afraid of the world outside the House. He made her very serious and focused which he knew would also make her not appreciate his sense of humor and might even end up making her a little awkward.

He gave her memories, vague repetitive memories of checking every Active over and over and a special rewritten memory of what Alpha did to her but made sure that she knows he's dead and can't hurt her again.

He tossed around names of family, most of them dead, and friends in college who she has lost contact with and doesn't feel the need to talk to anyway; past boyfriends, a happy childhood, but overall a prominent, and maybe a little crippling, focus on schoolwork. He didn't have time to fret over every little detail, especially if he had made her devote enough to her job.

And finally, for the "insurance," he made her find him overconfident and therefore feel the need to double check things he does, that way one of them will be bound to catch any errors before they happen. He figured that combined with her almost certain lack of enjoyment of his jokes, that will be enough but just in case he made her detest the way he smells as well.

He looked up at the clock to see that he was within DeWitt's proposed time restraint and all he had left to do was give her a first name. Saunders had to remain as her last name because if they changed it, they'd have to reprogram all the Actives.

For some reason he found himself remembering a girl in his advanced biology class in high school whom he had liked and awkwardly asked to the prom. She had turned him down because she had another date but in retrospect it was silly to ask her anyway since he was so much younger than her. She seemed to be a lot like how Dr. Saunders was going to turn out. Her name was Claire.

Claire Saunders.

The name just sounded right.


	3. Dr Claire Saunders

_Chapter 3 – Dr. Claire Saunders_

"Sleeping at your desk, doc?"

Dr. Saunders opened her eyes quickly to see Topher Brink standing in front of her with a smile that seemed particularly inappropriate at such a time. She didn't remember falling asleep in her office chair but once the dull pain in her face became apparent, she realized that it was probably a good thing she dozed off since sleep tonight would be hard to come by.

"I'm afraid the day's events have been rather trying," she said, standing up brusquely as if to prove that she was awake enough to keep working. "You weren't attacked with a knife today," she noted in an eerily serene tone.

She walked over to the cabinets and started setting up multiple medical trays with mechanical accuracy, only briefly stopping to touch the corner of the scar bisecting her lips. The snitches weren't perfect but they were effective and she started trying to recall how long it had been since she took some painkillers, finding that she couldn't remember at all.

"A good day is a scar-free one," Topher said with a comical note of joy.

Suddenly there was a loud clang as Dr. Saunders dropped a bunch of tools onto one of the metal trays and Topher jumped. There was a short pregnant silence until, almost simultaneously, they both sighed deeply, Topher having realized how insensitive his comment was and Dr. Saunders trying to stifle a harsh response.

"If you're done standing there reminding me how unfortunate my day has been, could you send someone in who needs actual help? I have a lot to do," she said curtly, her back still facing him as she tried to reorganize her fallen supplies.

"I'm sorry," he murmured weakly, truly feeling remorseful.

The clanking instruments stopped as Dr. Saunders turned her head around, showing how truly sad she was for a mere second before she responded with a composed, "Please."

Defeated, Topher walked out of the office thinking that he really must be the king of first impressions.

* * *

For the first few days after Claire Saunders started working at the Dollhouse, barely anyone saw her. She remained in her office almost exclusively and would pass on requests to the kitchen to have attendants bring her meals in her office under the excuse that she had a lot of things to do since the Alpha incident. All day he saw people going in and coming out but the only sign he ever saw of Dr. Saunders was the wisp of a white lab coat passing by the frosted windows.

He hadn't tried to make her so much of a hermit so he assumed the reason she was acting even more antisocial than he had intended was because of the trauma from what had happened, which was completely reasonable. She did come out once to ask DeWitt directly about Samuelson's body which had been lying in her office long enough for the Actives to start asking questions but for the most part she had disappeared.

That was why he had initially nicknamed her "The Phantom."

After a few weeks, Topher started to notice that as much as he watched everyone from his little tower above the action, she watched from her own stance on the ground. Like him, she didn't just watch the Actives either. The first time he saw her looking at him, he was thrown for a second but then recovered and waved at her, causing her to disappear without any kind of reciprocation and he found himself a little offended. Then again, if someone caught him watching them and made it known that they saw him, he might freak out too. That was part of being the observer. You live outside.

When she first came to his office, it had been so long since he had really seen her without distorted glass in the way that he had forgotten entirely about her scars. It didn't help that she entered like a ninja with silent footsteps, peeking around the wall at him like she does from her office. All he saw was the scarred countenance of Whiskey, forgetting about Dr. Saunders all together, and he legitimately thought he was being spied on by a vengeful ghost.

He might have fallen out of his chair shouting, "Demon."

Might.

He was also rather good at second impressions.

"I just wanted to tell you to keep an eye on Lima's repeat engagements. She's been very busy lately and I think a philanthropy assignment would be good for her."

And with that she was gone.

* * *

Dr. Saunders was a wonderful creation but the more he actually saw her, the less he thought of her as an imprint.

He really amazed himself with her. Often he was allotted at least a week to make an imprint for regular paying engagements although it usually only took him a few hours. The process consisted of a lot of tracking down and adjusting every little detail about an imprint to fit the client's needs but then after that it was just recheck, consider margin for error, and check again until he was sure it was exactly what was needed and the imprint was ready for take-off.

With Dr. Saunders he had barely an hour and very few specifics to work with. Specific details actually make creating an imprint easier; without them, hell, he could have given her the ability to build an atomic bomb with her feet while doing a handstand if he wanted although that kind of skill would be just a little excessive.

And yet, even though he had essentially thrown her together, she was exactly what they needed. She was perfect.

For her job.

He really started noticing this when eventually the fact that she had been cloistering herself for over a month started to bother him and he began making excuses to try to get himself used to her, if for no other reason than the fact that he didn't want to have another "ghost of Whiskey" moment. On the way to get food from the kitchen he would pass by her office and give her a nod or a wave but moved on hastily and heedlessly. He never really stuck around to see if she would respond but he assumed she wouldn't.

From there, he started going into her office to get files on the Actives or harmless medicines. He rarely had anything in particular to look at in terms of the files but usually whatever file he pulled would strike up some kind of conversation.

"Why do you need Quebec's folder?" she asked, stepping around from behind the dark bookshelf.

Topher jumped slightly. He would never get used to her entrances but at least he didn't scream at her this time.

"Hi, Dr. Saunders," he said jovially, grinning as he tried to think up an excuse on the spot. "Um, I'm just checking up on his medical history since he's going to be released soon."

"In a year," she corrected flatly, thoroughly unconvinced.

"Huh, well, you have a good memory!" he said chuckling.

"What do you need the file for?" she repeated, looking up at him inquisitively. She had very little tolerance for him when he beat around the bush. This was the third time he had come into the office for something without really telling her why he needed it.

"Oh, uh, nosebleed," he said firmly, nodding excessively. "He had one. There was blood . . . coming out of his nose." He made a motion with his hand that implied a torrent streaming from his face.

"When he returned from his engagement?" she filled in, taking a seat at her desk.

"Yes!" he said avidly, pointing at her with the file. "And I was checking his medical file to see if he has hypertension because you know, hypertension can lead to a stroke and there's always a possibility of a tumor in his coconut and if something's not right upstairs, that's my department," he spat out quickly. The idea of an Active having hypertension was, of course, ridiculous but he had to find some way of tying everything back to him.

"If I thought Quebec's engagements were causing severe problems, I would have let you know by now," she assured him. "Did you not get one of these?" she asked, holding up one her weekly reports that had been sitting on her desk.

Topher hadn't checked his mail in two years.

"No, but thanks," he said, taking the paper. "I can always use good bathroom reading material."

Dr. Saunders looked away from him and sighed. She took her reports pretty seriously. Well, she took most things pretty seriously. In a way, he admired that about her. Intense situations have a tendency to make him uncomfortable and when he gets uncomfortable, a stream of uncontrollable jokes just comes out, preventing anyone from taking him seriously. He actually really liked to be around serious people because they balanced him out so well but he did wish she could lighten up for just a second. Maybe smile every once in a while.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked indifferently, typing something into her computer, already back to work.

Topher opened his mouth for a second but ended up just inhaling deeply. Hesitantly, he put the file and report down on her examination table and strolled over to the front of her desk.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You can _ask_," she said glancing up at him, implying that an answer would not be a guarantee. From his tone it sounded like he was going to ask her something personal and she was not going to freely open herself up to anyone.

"Have you ever thought about . . ." He couldn't comfortably finish his question. "You know," he added uneasily for lack of a better phrase.

Dr. Saunders gave him a look that showed she very much did not know and Topher motioned to his own face.

"Fixing the . . ." He tried to spit out 'scars' but he wasn't entirely sure how touchy she was about them and he didn't want to offend her and make her dislike him any more than she already did.

"Oh," she said softly, turning away from him for a second as if she was trying to hide a face. "As of right now, I don't really feel a pressing need to," she answered honestly.

"But if you had one. . ." he wondered, trying to figure out if she could even define what would cause such a need. She was supposed to want nothing but to do her job.

"Why would I?" she asked as if she speculated that Topher already had a list of reasons why it would be a good idea. He did love to have lists that prove his point.

"I don't know," he admitted after a short pause, shrugging his shoulders. He had genuinely been wondering if Dr. Saunders would turn out to be the kind of person who would want to fix her face as soon as possible. She was very meticulous and precise in her work and while that did apply to her appearance in terms of how she dressed, the scars were a separate element all together. They were like a further protection against outside forces.

It was curious.

It also made him wonder what would happen when her contract is up although he had been trying not to think about that too much. For now, Dr. Saunders was a real person and that was how he was going to treat her.

There was a pregnant silence as he shuffled his feet and she, unwilling to be made to feel awkward, picked up her pen and started writing something on her desk calendar.

"I'm going to go plug up my mouth with food," Topher interjected. "Do you want to . . .?"

"I have work to do," she interrupted, not looking up.

Mission to get her involved in house activities: failed.

"Right. Sorry," he said practically speaking on top of her. "Uh, bye."

He nodded at her even though she wasn't looking and left the office forgetting completely about Quebec's file and Dr. Saunders' weekly report.

* * *

Boyd was complaining again.

One would think he was Echo's father from the way he was so overprotective of her, Topher thought as he walked out of his office, Boyd's voice coming through his headset. Samuelson was not nearly so concerned with every little detail of Echo's engagements; he was just there for a paycheck. But maybe it was a good thing Boyd seemed to care so much more. Echo was the one who needed protecting after all so why not hire Neurotic Guy to look after her?

Still, explaining how things work to him was getting tiring so as Topher tried to ease Boyd's unnecessarily anxious nerves, he started throwing in new comparisons to the old discussion and wandering around the dubious utopia that was the Dollhouse. The activity of the haven never ceased to entertain him.

When he had gotten around to telling Boyd about the flawed nature of imprints, he saw Dr. Saunders standing around and signing documents for one of the attendants.

And she was nowhere near her office.

It was refreshing.

Although she still walked around like she was on some kind of leash, tying her down to her examination room, she was finally starting to become more mobile. He was even seeing her in the cafeteria more and more frequently even though she usually took the food back to her office.

Something about seeing her out and about lead to a smile directed at her that he was unable to suppress.

When she looked up from the electronic form in her hands and saw him grinning at her, she reacted exactly how he would have expected her to. Instead of returning the smile, she looked quickly away but not in the motion of distaste that he assumed she would.

She seemed almost embarrassed.

Whether this was because she was flattered or because she was uncomfortable, he found that he, pleasantly, didn't know.

* * *

He always calls her Dr. Saunders (it's safer that way) but he often thinks of her as Claire (and he knows he shouldn't).

* * *

The day Topher realized that, against all logic, he was attracted to Dr. Saunders, he seriously considered tracking down someone at Rossum who was a licensed psychiatrist and getting a full inspection of his head on a non-neurological level.

First he thought it was a superficial thing. Being forced to make Claire, made him think of Anna and now he was combining the two somehow, seeing Claire and associating her with Anna. But he knows that isn't it because Claire doesn't look like Anna. Yes, of course, they share the same face and no matter what he has always thought she was pretty, but they always remained separate when he looked at them. Aside from the obvious addition of the scars, Claire only wears her hair one way: down and curled. Anna's was straight and pulled back when he met her. Claire wears feminine dresses underneath her lab coat. Anna's attempt at trying to look nice was still fairly casual compared to Claire and even though he only had a photograph as proof, he always got the feeling that she wore t-shirts and jeans on her off days. When he looks at Claire, that is who he sees. Anna doesn't even factor into the equation.

Then he thought that it was an arrogance thing; he is the scientist who falls in love with his own creation. He made her, and therefore she is beautiful to him. But that can't be entirely true either. He made all of Whiskey's imprints as well and not all of them were beautiful to him. More than one of them he found annoying and particularly disagreeable no matter whom they looked like. Yes, they were all creations he took pride in, but that didn't immediately lead up to him liking them, and certainly not to being attracted to them. There's something in Claire that he likes and even if he had inadvertently put it there, he hadn't done so for his benefit. She was made for the House.

Then he wonders if he is intentionally seeking out unattainable women because of something in his past, some fear of relationships. Psychiatry seems to put a lot of focus on past experiences and, after all, he did name Claire after a girl who rejected him. That must be it! He liked Anna and any relationship with her was unfeasible because she signed her life away for five years, putting a stall on any progress he could make with her until a time that seemed so far in the future. And now Claire, a woman he had designed so that nothing would happen between them, is his new inaccessible object of affection.

But when she had first become Whiskey, he had spent hours thinking about what to do when Anna wakes up. He was preparing for his chance; not avoiding it. He actually actively put her out of his mind so it wouldn't weigh heavily on him. Had he been looking for a self-destructive disaster, he would have just continued pining for the last few years.

And deep down, even though he knows he had put up bars against it, he longs for the day when Claire laughs at one of his jokes instead of giving him a look of annoyance or rolling her eyes.

* * *

"You must be Topher Brink! It's so nice to finally meet you!" the girl said, thrusting her ring-covered hand out for him to shake. Tentatively he took it, eyeing her curiously.

"And . . . what was your name again?" he asked, pointing at her with his other hand. He had only briefly looked over her information when DeWitt had sent it to him. He didn't want another assistant; he had been fairing fine for the last few months without anyone's help.

Besides, this girl was _qualified_. His previous assistants had been blatantly not up to his caliber. They were like his pawns, not knowing enough to function independently of him but conversant enough that he didn't have to explain things repeatedly. They didn't even bother to ask too many questions or to try to understand the capacity of the machines they were working with. It was nice.

This girl had received virtually the same training as him albeit at an older age so she lacked the years of hands-on experience that he had being so prominently accelerated in his schooling. But the fact remained: she knew exactly what he was doing and with a little bit of active work, she could be a head programmer herself. It made him very tense.

"It's Ivy," she reminded him, smiling brightly.

"Right, right," Topher said nodding as he glanced out the window. "Plant name. Botany."

Dr. Saunders was walking across the floor and he made an uncomfortable connection.

"_My dad was a botanist."_

He rubbed his forehead and scrunched up his face trying to get her out of his head. It was only recently that she had entered his mind again and he was trying to get her out.

"So, is there anything you need me to do?" Ivy interjected hopefully.

Topher lowered his hand and looked at her.

She was a cute girl, probably around his age but her plaited hair and clothing choices made her seem younger. Her white lab coat had a large pin in the shape of a flamingo on it and somehow this was the thing he honed in on. An animal pin. Cute. Smart. A plant name. A _threat_.

"Yes. You could go to the store and pick me up some cheese curls; the puffy kind, not the crunchy ones."

* * *

"Hey!" Topher said, popping his head into Dr. Saunders' office.

"Hello, Topher," she said casually not looking up from her computer screen. "What do you need?"

He smiled slightly deciding that was marginally better than 'what do you want.'

Topher clapped his hands together and strolled into the room feeling satisfied with the rhythm they had established. She still didn't precisely care for him, but she had accepted him and that was probably the best he could hope for.

"Just warning you that it's lunch time so you might want to give your eyes a break and get some eats. I hear they have cake!" he said joyously, like he was really trying to sell the idea to her.

"I'll be down in a few minutes," she said quickly, her eyes still staring straight ahead, the clicking of the keys speeding up a little.

Topher nodded and aimlessly started to wander around the room until he caught sight of the lollipop jar.

"Hey, Dr. Saunders!"

"What is it, Topher?" she asked, now sounding a bit annoyed that he was clearly just killing time in her private space.

"What's your favorite flavor of lollipop?" he asked, picking up the jar and looking through all the different colors.

Dr. Saunders stopped typing abruptly and Topher looked up at her tentatively. She didn't look angry or confused, just contemplative.

"Those are for the Actives," she answered flatly, her response sounding more motorized than anything else Topher had ever heard her say and he started to worry that he had just sparked something in her brain. She hadn't answered the question so he swiftly made up his mind to ask her again.

"Yeah, but what's your favorite?" he questioned, holding the jar from the bottom with the top facing her. "If I held this jar out to you right now, what color would you go for?"

Brusquely, she stood up and snatched the jar out of his hand.

"Don't you have to go get lunch?" she asked pointedly but not rudely.

Topher held up his hands in an arrest stance, a tad dramatic he would admit, and turned around to leave. Once he was outside of her office, he ducked behind the window and peeked inside to see her standing where she was, staring down into the jar with that same pensive look.

It was then that it occurred to him: she had never eaten one before and couldn't remember ever eating one.

Topher mentally kicked himself for his mistake, forgetting entirely about her whole not-technically-a-real-person thing, and watched quietly as she pulled an orange lollipop out of the jar with a quizzical look. After a few seconds of inspecting the candy, she put it back and unwrapped a yellow one instead.

* * *

Although it is difficult for most of the people in the House to tell, she was definitely ever so slightly more on edge than usual and he knew it was because of the dead body wearing Alpha's knife work.

The fact that the security team had stretched the truth about Alpha's death wasn't really that surprising but it did certainly complicate things. When he had added in that bit of programming, he had done so not just because they had told him that Alpha was worm food but also because he was afraid of the kind of terror it would instill in her to know that he is still alive and that she had barely survived his rampage the first time.

For this reason, her quickly developing friendship with Boyd seemed to be a good thing for her, even if it did make him twitch for a second before reminding himself that, for now, Dr. Saunders had her freedoms and Boyd was exactly the kind of person he had made her relate to. He was someone who had a similar disposition to her own, who she could talk seriously to about House matters. Having someone she could at least talk to would take her mind off of things, or at least rationalize and sooth her fears.

Even so, her lack of reaction when he joked about them getting married and having scowly babies, made him feel better, and not just because such a thing would be impossible for her.

* * *

After the lollipop incident, Topher had been watching her vigilantly for signs that he had disrupted her ignorance, promising not to make that mistake again.

For a little while he seemed to be in the clear until one day he heard Dr. Saunders talking to Boyd just outside of his office.

"Echo wasn't always the best," she said with what almost sounded like a touch of sadness.

Topher froze.

"Are you talking about Alpha?" Boyd asked seriously.

Please be talking about Alpha, Topher thought desperately, holding his breath.

"I'm just saying sometimes the best thing to hope for is good enough."

That wasn't the answer he was hoping for.

* * *

Before he had imprinted Claire, DeWitt had specified that they would be working in close quarters as her explanation for why so many precautions needed to be taken against any kind of emotional involvement. However, it wasn't until Echo's eye camera that they really needed to work side by side on anything but when she said close quarters, she meant it. They shared a desk, planned the whole thing out together and as it turned out: Dr. Saunders is difficult to work with.

It wasn't just because all his jokes fell flat around her, they always did anyway and "sneeizure" wasn't his most clever comment, but because she really did let her caring side impact her opinions too much. Although it had started out generally fine: him explaining the technology and neurological aspects and her translating the procedure, it wasn't long before he was bombarded with a list of side effects and things that could go wrong during surgery that he didn't need to hear about. It wasn't her job to assess the risks and this had led to a small but rather sharp argument.

After the surgery went off without any snags, he assumed they wouldn't have to work that intimately again for a while but the second he accidentally caught sight of Victor's "problem," the first place he thought to go was to her. Sure, she was the House doctor after all but a part of him realized that he was running into her office just because he needed to tell someone and she was still fresh on his mind.

When he had assumed they wouldn't be working together for a while, he really didn't think the next project they would work on would be erection hunting. It certainly wasn't how he wanted to spend his day.

She was annoyed of course although it wasn't really at him. She blamed the whole system of the Dollhouse for not reading her reports and thereby directly causing this. Topher hoped that it was that simple and that there hadn't been a mistake he made in his wipes. Who was he kidding? Of course, it wasn't his fault.

Either way being is such close proximity to her that he could smell the vaguely fruity scent of the shampoo the House buys while they were watching videos of people showering resembled a really awkward dream he had once. And wasn't nearly as sexy as it sounded.

When Dr. Saunders had determined the cause to be Sierra and not some error made in the imprinting process, she didn't take being corrected as badly as she had with the other project.

Topher had found it really fascinating how even wiped of a personality or sex drive, the indefinable aspect of "attraction" was still capable of producing a physical response.

It was also . . . sweet.

"He likes her," he said grinning at Dr. Saunders.

"Yeah."

And for the briefest moment he saw a smile flash over her lips.

* * *

"Can you tell me about Sierra?" Dr. Saunders asks, she and Topher watching him closely for any responses.

"Sierra is beautiful," he says in his Doll monotone.

Topher smiles.

"There are a lot of beautiful girls here, bro. That's pretty much the idea," he says turning to look at Dr. Saunders without thinking. "Beauty."

* * *

Keeping Dr. Saunders out of the N73-16 drug outbreak experiments was surprisingly easy. She must have had a lot of work or something because typically this would be the exact kind of situation that she would not only want to get involved in, but raise as many issues about medical ethics as humanly possible.

Initially Topher was going to be very vague with her, saying that he had a lot of dangerous work to do and if she needed anything, she should send an Active to get him. However, DeWitt pointed out that there was really no use in keeping information from her since she would probably have to be told about it later. Besides, the only reason why they weren't involving her in the experiments was because they were unsure whether or not the drugs did have some kind of effect on Actives that they could not foresee (although truthfully, Topher was starting to wonder if he was the only one in the House who remembered that Dr. Saunders was not a real person). Turns out they made the right decision. The last thing Dr. Saunders needed was visions from her past lives.

Although she had been fine sitting that project out, when the time came to brainstorm ideas on how to regain control over the priority Actives, Dr. Saunders would not just sit quietly by.

Her idea was the one that they accepted and if Topher was keeping score (and he certainly wasn't) they would be about even.

Sure it had been a good idea and seemed to work alright for the Actives who needed it, but if he had been worried about keeping her status as an Active under wraps, forgetting she was an Active altogether wasn't the best way to go about hiding such information.

When he saw her walking out into the light for the first time since she entered the Dollhouse, it wasn't Dr. Saunders but Whiskey who stared dazed into the sky with all the other Actives, wondering why she hadn't felt the sun's rays on her face before.

* * *

Dominic, well, Dominic in Victor's body, looked her dead in the face as she was administering the drugs and shouted out, "Whiskey" after having already tried to plead with everyone else in the room who might offer a bit of sympathy. The beseeching tone didn't change. It sounded like a name.

Without missing a beat she replied with, "He wants a drink instead" and Topher breathed a silent sigh of relief that she did not make the connection.

"I'm not surprised," DeWitt added with the same blithe calm she always displays but he could tell that they wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer.

He could have used some whiskey himself.

* * *

Dr. Saunders lingered in the doorway of the imprinting room, no longer traumatized by her encounter with Alpha but back to her usual calm, maybe even superlatively calm.

"He asked me if I always wanted to be a doctor," she said distantly, as if her mind was adding in comments and analysis as she spoke.

"Huh," he said, not sure if he should act surprised or intrigued or what. All he could feel was a stiff cold running through his body.

" Well, who can fathom the mind of a crazy person?" he added, trying to sound as casual as possible although he could hear the nervous falter in his own tone.

How much longer?

And then what?

"The one who made him crazy," she offered, slowly turning to leave. "Maybe."

Apparently just because I can make something does not mean I will fully understand it, he thought as he watched her walk away. Maybe she wanted to remind me.

* * *

Alpha had imprinted Echo with the _Natural Born Killers _Whiskey.

Once the discovery had been made he didn't know why he had started checking Echo's imprints in the first place. It made sense that Alpha would return to something he knew as opposed to trying to guess which Echo imprint he has not been acquainted with would be most likely to jump into his arms and let him take her away. Even without the perfect details of the Whiskey imprint being dumb and psychotic, the imprint had the one thing Alpha seemed to really need from Echo: complete, unwavering trust.

Feeling not-so-amazing about the result of his search, he immediately went to DeWitt with the conclusion but when he told her, they both realized how unimportant the fact was. He needed trust and he got it. It wasn't like Alpha wanted to go on a crime spree; he was far too intelligent to make such a scene when the Dollhouse is looking for him. Whatever he was going to do with Echo now had been carefully planned and Paul and Boyd would be the ones taking care of it. At least they had a possible location.

Somewhat defeated by the lack of assistance he was able to provide, Topher walked back to his office, confused to see Dr. Saunders standing on the lower level, staring out the large window.

"I think you gave me more computer skills than would be required of a medical doctor," she said calmly, standing still with her back to him.

The end, he thought breathlessly, his gaze turning to the computer where he saw the name "Whiskey" at the top of the screen with Anna's picture below it. Had she always looked so sad in the photo?

"It was very easy for me to hack your system."

She turned around as if looking for a reaction and even though Topher had been preparing for this since she first started to become suspicious of her past, he didn't realize just how difficult it would really be. He couldn't react. His throat was dry and his limbs weighed too much to move.

"I'm curious," she said after a pause to give him time to say something. He had nothing to say.

"About?" he choked out, forcing himself to turn towards her as she started walking up the stairs to his level.

"Well, I guess I understand why they wouldn't want to waste an investment and I suppose why hire a new physician when you can just imprint the broken doll . . . but why did you decide it was so important for me to hate you?" her tone as harsh as it was within her capacity to be.

This caught him off guard almost as much as the revelation that she had figured out she was an Active. Hate? He hadn't wanted her to hate him. He didn't know she hated him. That had never been his intention when programming her. They were supposed to be able to work together! A distaste for his humor, his arrogance, his smell, all in the name of keeping any kind of superfluous non-working relationship from accidentally occurring . . . when did hate come into this?

Topher stared at her and parted his lips, trying to get some form of clarification out only to find that there was none he could offer.

"I think that's strange," she said with the same scornful tone, as she turned to leave.

"You didn't open it," Topher spat out before she could get too far, pointing to the computer.

She stopped, facing away from him.

"No."

"Aren't you curious to see who you really are?" he asked confused. Why would she come so far only to stop inches from the end?

She turned to look intently at him, her face stiff but her despise so clear, dissecting him with her stare like he was a monster.

"I know who I am."

Topher was taken aback and tried so hard to say something else, anything else, but she walked away before he could.

He had never fully forgotten that Dr. Saunders was an Active, only reflecting on it when he was still adjusting to her and when he thought she might soon find out for herself. The idea of her being a person, a wholly realized and self aware person, was not something he had really considered until then.

He could remember her when she was a blank Doll, when she was several other people he had crafted in his lab, when she was only one traumatized school teacher looking for an escape from her grief and most of all, he could remember sitting down at his computer and throwing together the imprint of Dr. Saunders in less than an hour. Whenever he saw her becoming her own person, he didn't notice because he had forgotten she was an Active.

But here she was: 100% Claire Saunders. Someone he harbored a strange sort of affection for even though she would never feel the same and who now looked at him like he was the devil himself when he was just as bound by the system as she was.

* * *

When Echo was brought back from her outing with Alpha, Topher was thankful he would be able to scrub her and end his day. Using the project as a way to keep his mind occupied, he picked apart her brain completely, leaving no lobe unwatched as he tried to remove every trace of Alpha's experiment. It took a few hours because he was working rather carefully and the longer he spent focusing on Echo's brain, the less time he would have to think of Dr. Saunders before he is finally able to fall asleep.

"If you like," were his words of completion to a Doll who didn't know anything of the hell she had been through or the hell he was currently in.

He turned around, his eyes downcast as he wondered, now what? What preparing had he thought he had done that only left him with this uncertainty?

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, startling him slightly as he turned around to see Echo standing behind him.

He was about to ask her what was wrong but before he could, he saw her hand passing over his chest, right over where his heart is.

She kept her hand there for a second, looking blankly up at him with dead Doll eyes that were not entirely unaware before she wordlessly turned to leave.

How did she . . .?

Was she sensing his feelings or showing him that he really had a heart to break?

* * *

Dr. Saunders had chosen to express her resentment towards her discovery through distressingly symbolic torture.

He certainly didn't program that; could never have anticipated it.

First it had been the _Bride of Frankenstein_ clips interrupting his computer. An interesting choice really since at the end Frankenstein's original monster had taken pity on his creator, an idea Claire clearly wasn't willing to go along with. Maybe he was supposed to be the monster. The Bride did hate him.

Then came the rats. Sure it was appropriate and annoying enough to stand alone as some kind of haunting reminder that she believes he's treating humans like lab rats but that clearly wasn't entirely the point. She knew he was afraid of them and had intentionally used the Godzillas of the rat world for that very reason. If he didn't dream about masses of smothering white fur and high-pitched squeaking, he'd call the day a dubious success.

But he wasn't even safe in his own bed anymore. He had been napping more than usual, unable to go through a full REM cycle before he would be woken up by some unpleasant subconscious thought that would lead to him begrudgingly heading back to work.

That night he naively thought his exhaustion made him safe.

He had felt hands, lips and really was in a far more enjoyable dream than he figured he would be having, than he thought he deserved to be having but when he started to wake he realized that the feelings weren't drifting away with his consciousness and he was soon looking up at Claire's face hovering over his own.

He wondered if this had been months earlier, would he have jumped away so quickly and demanded to know if she was drunk? Even so, the thought that this was just another level of her plans to make him suffer did not cross his mind at first. Especially when the response was that she was just trying to be her best as she backed him into the wall and his mind was filled with uncomfortable flashbacks.

She glanced down at his groin and he didn't hesitate to push her away, grab the nearest pair of pants and start trying to explain himself even though she's a doctor. She knows how that happens and she had provoked him on purpose and he wonders if she even knows the half of what kind of a mind screw she's running on him.

"Let's stop playing games," she said smoothly, stalking towards him and putting her hands on him for a second before he leapt away from her.

It was completely absurd. He had never been playing a game with her. She was the Dungeon Master here.

He sits down on the edge of his poor excuse for a bed and realizes that she had actually thought this through rather well.

"Because this is the end game. This is where it all leads. You design someone to hate you so that you can convince them to love you," she said gently, before pushing him back onto the bed and straddling him.

He tells her he could make a love slave any time as a counter argument even though he never would. It would never be satisfying or she would never be more than what he makes her and he had known this for years. Unfortunately, Claire seemed to know too.

"But that wouldn't be a challenge, would it? Slaves are just slaves... but winning over your enemy, the one person guaranteed to reject everything you are? That's real love," she purred, running her fingers through his hair, whispering feigned "I love you's."

He faltered for a beat, thrown by her logic, and let his hand that had been originally avoiding any contact rest on her thigh. Was he subconsciously doing that? Was that why he had some kind of unexplainable attraction to her?

But before she could press her lips to his, he realized her game was working and that he shouldn't have let her confuse him. He threw her off of him easily and he wondered if the act's simplicity was because of experience, a heightened sense of morality, or simply because he knew she was wrong, receiving a slap across the face for his efforts.

"You need a freakin' treatment," he said knowing that the words meant nothing to her now. Before getting her back into the chair would have been difficult, but now it was next to impossible.

"Why shouldn't I love you?" she demanded, standing up to yell at him. "Aren't you lovable? Aren't you big brother? Aren't you the lord my god? Why should I fight your divine plan?"

"Because you're better than that!" he admitted, standing up. She had become more than he had planned, more than anyone could have foresaw and he could tell by the look on her face that she was starting to believe it too. "Because you're better than me."

And he explained it all to her: why she was made and how he had made her and he could see the fear on her face. She was grasping at reasons to continue hating him even though she was no longer sure of anything.

"You don't care . . . if- if people get hurt," she spat weakly at him, knowing her defense was crumbling; her back was against the wall.

"You don't know me!" he shouted, seeing everything finally sink in behind her big, brown eyes. "I didn't make you hate me. You chose to."

Claire slid down the wall until she was sitting, pulling her knees up protectively in front of her as she cried for what she now knew was the first real time.

"How do I live?" she asked pleadingly, looking at Topher with tear-filled eyes. "How do I go through my day knowing everything I think comes from something I can't abide?"

He didn't have an answer and could never possibly think of one.

"So you weren't really going to sleep with me?" he asked, changing the subject, knowing that she hadn't wanted to but realizing now that he didn't actually know her well enough to know if she would have out of spite.

"I can't stand the smell of you," she admitted earnestly, her face resting against her folded arms.

The comment sparked a bit of pride in him since he had intended to have that element in her construction but there had never been any confirmation from her on whether or not it took.

"I did that," he said a bit too upbeat, and she looked away from him. "So we'd never . . ." he quickly stopped himself before revealing far too much and humbly looked down at his hands. Somehow she seemed to understand his meaning anyway.

"Why didn't you find out who you really used to be?" he asked quickly, crawling over to her. The question had been on his mind from the beginning. "Remember, you had your chance! Maybe DeWitt would even re-imprint your old identity. You've earned it!"

And as he said the words it sounded like the perfect solution. She didn't want to be his creation and there was another girl whose contract was just about up and deserved to be getting back to her own life.

"Because I don't wanna die."

The words shocked him still, his mind reeling from the revelation.

If Claire Saunders leaves the body she now occupies and was made for and never comes back, she is dead. Every imprint he has ever made is a person design, he said so himself, and that person is only allowed to live as long as they are needed to serve their purpose. He is playing God even more than he had ever imagined he was, creating and destroying on a daily basis to suit those created naturally.

And if Claire never leaves then Anna isn't asleep.

He had told her he wasn't an executioner. He had told her everything would be alright, that there would be Twinkies when she woke up. He had made plans.

But how could he ask Claire to die even if her life meant killing someone else?

"You're human," he said finally truly understanding the meaning of the word.

"Don't flatter yourself."

* * *

When she left the Dollhouse he could understand why and couldn't even force himself to think of it as stealing.

He just missed having her around.


End file.
